Maidens of Mayhem
by Evie Delacourt
Summary: Three young maidens arrive at King Kelson's court at Rhemuth to begin their duties as ladies-in-waiting to a noblewoman in residence there, and secretly to begin their Deryni training as well. The story takes place in the autumn through spring immediately following the events in The Quest For Saint Camber.
1. Prologue

_[Note: The characters in this ongoing story were first introduced in the following stories, to be read in this order:_

_Sophie de Varnay—In Pulverem Reverteris, Lady-in-Waiting_

_Celsie de Chervignon—Demoiselle in Distress, Chapters 1-3_

_Ailidh nic Ardry and Contessa Constanza di Fianna-Outfoxed]_

**Maidens of Mayhem**

Prologue

"Constanza? Is that you?"

The Contessa Constanza d'Alcara di Fianna turned around to see Duchess Richenda rise from her seat at the window to approach her, arms outstretched for a warm embrace. "Stanzi!"

Constanza stepped into the hug, clasping her cousin close for a long moment before disengaging. "I had hoped I would find you here in Rhemuth!"

"I figured you'd be wintering in Fianna!" Richenda said.

The Contessa shook her head. "No, there's nothing in Fianna for me now, with Giovanni dead these five years. My home there no longer feels like my own, now that Giovanni's son has taken a wife, and anyway, I prefer Rhemuth, given a choice."

"But do you no longer visit your father's court?"

Stanzi smiled sadly. "Not for many a year. But come, let us speak of happier matters. I hear you have another son now!"

"Yes, and I was about to fetch him from the nursery; it's time for his feeding. Would you like to come with me?"

"I'd love to!" She turned to the raven-haired Duchess whose solar she had just entered. "I do beg pardon, Meraude, but I've not seen my cousin since—how long has it been, Richenda?"

"Briony had just been born." Richenda smiled. "You should see her now, Stanzi. She's got your energy."

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry!"

Meraude laughed. "Well, go on then, it sounds like you've got a lot of catching up to do. And you know you're welcome to my solar anytime, Constanza; no need to ask permission for your comings and goings." She kissed the younger woman on the cheek. "Go see young Kelric. I'm sure by now he's loudly demanding his dinner."

The two women departed for the nursery. At the door, the nurse, looking nerve-frayed, handed over a small squalling bundle. Richenda eagerly took the young Ducal heir, her eyes searching the room for a comfortable seat. "Here," Stanzi said, finding an empty window seat and plumping up some soft pillows on it. "This looks like a good place to relax."

Richenda sat, swiftly unlacing the front ties of her gown with practiced fingers, allowing her infant to latch on with a soft sigh of her own. Constanza laughed.

"I'm not sure which of you looks more relieved, you or your son!"

Richenda laughed. "I'm glad you came in when you did. Even if I didn't know Kelric would be hungry by now, I don't think I could've held out much longer."

Stanzi gave her a wistful smile. "I do envy you. I've had three marriages, and never once caught with child."

The Duchess's blue eyes softened. "I know. I'm so sorry."

Stanzi shrugged. "Ah well. I've acquired daughters of a sort another way, though. God help me!" She laughed. "My late husband's cousin Odhran, the Baron of Marlor, has asked if I would accept his step-daughter as a lady-in-waiting. And I don't recall if you ever met my girlhood friend Mariana de Lisle de Varnay, God rest her soul, but her daughter Sophronia is old enough to come to Court now, so her father has asked if I would take her into my service as well. She's my god-daughter."

Richenda chuckled. "So you're bypassing the messy years and starting out with young women? I may be a little envious myself."

Stanzi laughed. "I don't know about _that._ You haven't met Ailidh yet."

#

Stanzi held little Kelric against her shouder, turning her head to inhale the freshly bathed fragrance of his silky hair as she and Richenda walked down the garden path to where Richenda's older children were playing. He was sound asleep, one chubby fist entangled in her dark tresses.

"So, who is taking care of Brendan and Briony right now?" she asked.

"Their nurse, I believe, since when I left them, their 'Uncle Seandry' was in bad need of a nap."

The contessa's eyes lit up. "Oh, so the delectable Lord Derry is still in your Alaric's service?"

Richenda laughed. "Yes, he is." She turned curious eyes towards her cousin. "'The delectable Lord Derry'? Is there something I should know about?"

Constanza merely smiled. "Just because I'm not seeking another husband, that hardly means I'm blind or impervious to masculine charms, _mi cara_."

Richenda gave her cousin a considering look. "You're certainly young enough to wed again, if you change your mind. I know you've no lack of suitors. And I suspect Derry would make a very good husband, if he could ever be convinced to settle down."

Stanzi shook her head. "No, your Derry is an Earl. I'm the_ last _woman in the world he needs to be tied down to. He needs an heir. And given his love for your children, doubtless he'd love more than one of his own, once he gets around to doing his duty to his lands." She sighed. "No, I quite enjoyed his company when last we met, but I've grown used to being my own woman in the years since Gaspard's death."

"Still, I wish you could have a happier life, Stanzi. You've buried three husbands, and even though I know the first one was hardly of your choosing, you seemed to be quite happy with Giovanni."

"I was. And happy enough with Gaspard as well, though I had far less time with him. But I'm done, Richenda. I...don't like to grow so attached anymore. Loss hurts too much, once the heart is involved." She smiled. "But I am delighted that _you_ are so happy in your marriage to your Alaric Morgan. It's what I've always hoped for, for you."

A wry smile. "And it doesn't bother you that he's only half Deryni?"

Stanzi raised a dark brow. "Should it?" She waved the thought away. "He cares for you; that's the important thing. I certainly can't see how being 'only half Deryni' has made much difference in his ability to function as Kelson's Champion or as the Duke of Corwyn. And as for his ability to be a good husband to you...well, even Sofiana has lost any reservations she once had in that regard."

"You've spoken to Aunt Sofiana recently?"

"Well, not _too _recently. In the past year, yes."

They heard children's laughter close by and rounded a corner to see Brendan and Briony playing with a young golden-haired woman. As Richenda and Constanza approached, the younger woman dipped into a low curtsy.

"Stanzi," Richenda said as soon as they drew close, "I'm like for you to meet Alaric's new ward, Lady Celeste de Chervignon, called Celsie. Celsie, this is my cousin, the Contessa Constanza di Fianna." She crouched to scoop up Briony, who had attached herself to her mother's knees, and then used her free arm to gather Brendan in a quick hug. "I hope the children have been behaving for you."

"Oh, they have been, Your Grace! Nurse was tired out and needed a nap, so I told her I'd stay out here with the children. We've been playing Statues. Or at least Brendan and I have been; Briony mainly likes to whirl around and plop down on her backside. I don't think she quite understands the game yet."

Richenda laughed. "Well, as long as they're enjoying themselves, I don't suppose that really matters. Do _you_ need a break, though?"

"I'm fine. We've been having fun." A shy smile. "I didn't have much of a chance to play with children at Chervignon. Even with my former staff, most of the household women were either too young or too old to have any."

"I take it that Lord Derry finally went inside for his nap?"

Celsie's cheeks turned a becoming shade of rose. "He did, Your Grace."

Briony started to squirm in her mother's arms. Richenda put the child down, watching her run back to Celsie to whisper something. Celsie nodded and crouched low enough for the young girl to climb onto her back, then gave her a pony ride. Brendan soon came up with the idea of trying to improvise some way for his little sister to tilt at a ring, having twisted a willow twig into a circle. Stanzi watched their antics with a smile.

"She seems like a sweet girl. How did Alaric gain her wardship?"

Richenda recounted the story of Celsie's harrowing ride to Coroth earlier in the summer, to escape the marriage her former steward had tried to force upon her, although she left out some of the more private aspects of that story, and she told Stanzi of the girl's heretofore unsuspected Deryni heritage. "That's why we decided to bring her to Rhemuth with us," she concluded. "She's in need of training, and I'm hoping to get a chance to work with her a little bit as time allows."

Constanza nodded. "I see. I'm doing the same with Sophie and Ailidh as well." At Richenda's surprised look, she smiled. "Yes, my two new ladies-in-waiting are both Deryni. That's one reason why I agreed to take them into my keeping. If not for that, well..." She shrugged. "I've come to value my privacy too much." She gazed out at Celsie. "How old is the lass?"

"She's seventeen," Richenda told her. "How old are Sophie and...was it Amy?"

"Close. Ailidh. Let's see...Sophie is quite close to turning eighteen, I believe, and Ailidh is about midway through her seventeeth year as well. Perhaps your Celsie could train along with them? They're both largely untrained. Sophie's family discouraged any use of her Deryni powers, although she's learned a little bit about them on her own, and Ailidh—well, she's the adventurous sort, and Deryni powers are a bit more accepted in the borderlands, so she'd figured out a few things even before she knew for certain she was Deryni, but she really needs to learn better technique and control. Not to mention, once they've both learned the basics, the arcana that one doesn't just naturally pick up from mere trial and error."

"I think Celsie might enjoy learning along with girls her own age. I'd thought of training her along with Brendan, but he's so much younger and yet enough ahead of her in his own knowledge and skill, I was afraid she might feel self-conscious about that. Would you mind?"

"Not at all! She could even share their sleeping quarters while you're in Rhemuth, if Alaric doesn't object. Where is she installed now, with your children? Or with your household ladies?"

"With my ladies, but she's the youngest by several years, so she'd probably enjoy having friends her own age here at Court to giggle with at night." Richenda smiled. "As I remember _us_ doing a time or two, before my marriage to Bran."

"And mine to Aumeric, God rot his soul! Yes, those were fun, carefree days." Constanza stood. "Speaking of my young ladies, I need to get back to them. But perhaps we can meet later tonight, maybe at dinner?"

"I'd like that. Let me talk to Alaric, and then I'll send you a message."

"Very well." Constanza's dark blue-violet eyes lit with laughter. "And do tell Sean I'm quite sorry to have missed him."

Richenda lifted a red-gold brow. "I'm sure he'll be quite sorry he missed you as well. Shall I invite him to dine with us?"

The laughter became audible. "Do!"

The Contessa left then, leaving Duchess Richenda quite curious about the friendship between her cousin and her husband's charming lieutenant.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"So, let's try this again, shall we?"

Contessa Constanza watched as each of her young charges produced handfire. Celsie, frowning a bit in concentration, managed to produce a brief flare of soft blue that flickered out almost as soon as it was produced. "That's good, it's a start. Control will come with practice. For now, though, concentrate on your focus." She extended her mental touch to probe gently at one of the training controls she'd set in Celsie's mind, sending the unspoken 'how' of the working to her again. "Like so. Now, try again?"

Celsie cupped her hands again. This time she was able to generate the handfire with less effort, holding it for a few seconds before it flickered out. "Like that?" she asked excitedly.

"Exactly like that!" her mentor said. "Brava! Now keep practicing." Stanzi moved on to the next pupil. "All right, Sophie, let's see you try."

Sophie's greenish-gold handfire was steadier, if less bright. "You've done this before, yes?" the Contessa asked.

"Yes, my lady." Sophie smiled. "I wasn't supposed to, but sometimes I used it to read late at night."

Constanza chuckled indulgently. "Well, I'll certainly not tell your father, but I'd appreciate it if you don't do the same while in my care. You need a full night's rest. Ailidh, your turn."

The border lass promptly produced a bright orb of red-gold light, lifting it up and then slowly pulling her cupped hands away to leave the ball of light suspended in mid-air.

Celsie giggled. "Show-off!"

Ailidh shrugged, grinning. "I've just practiced more is all."

"All right," Constanza told them. "Keep practicing for a few minutes more, and then I think that's sufficient for one evening. You've all done very well."

"I don't know why this lesson seems so much harder for me than some of the others," Celsie said. "I caught on to Truth-Reading right off."

"Probably because you've been doing it all along, at least to some extent," Sophie ventured, with a glance at Stanzi for confirmation. "At least that's how it was for me."

Stanzi nodded. "Sometimes one learns things on a subconscious level before they're known on the level of conscious thought." Looking at Celsie, she continued. "You, for example, knew instinctively how to defend yourself from your former steward using your innate powers, even though you didn't realize until then that you had them. However, being untrained, you lacked control, or even the conscious knowledge of how you managed to defend yourself. It's that knowledge that I hope to both unlock and impart. Some skills, like Truth-Reading or producing handfire, you already have the full ability to do; you merely needed to learn how to access that innate knowledge. Other skills, like how to create a ward, are learned skills. We will get around to those in time. But for now..." She reached into a pouch, pulling out a small gift for each girl. "I had these rings crafted for you in Fianna. Notice the cabochon stone set into each ring. Can you tell me what that is?"

Ailidh glanced at the golden stones. "Amber?" She touched one of the stones, then looked puzzled. "No, not exactly..."

Sophie picked hers up, examining it closely. "Is it shiral?"

"Yes, very good!" Constanza smiled. "And what benefit might there be in a shiral ring over, say, moonstone or garnet?"

"It's an aid in focusing, isn't it?" Sophie asked.

"Yes. It can also be used for scrying, among other things, but for now we'll just learn about using it as a focus. I would like for you to wear these rings at all times."

Ailidh picked up her ring, studying the shiral with a smile, then slipping it on her finger. "It's almost the same color as Dhugal's eyes," she mused. "I wonder if _he_ has one?"

"His Grace of Cassan probably does," allowed the Contessa, her words serving as a pointed reminder to the young lady-in-waiting that she needed to remember her childhood friend's proper rank here in the lowland Court of Rhemuth.

Ailidh flushed. "'His Grace of Cassan' said I needn't stand on ceremony in private," she reminded her mentor.

"True. But until you've become more accustomed to using the title, I'd like for you continue using it even in private. That way you'll be less likely to slip up in public." Her eyes softened in sympathy. "I know there's a lot to learn all at once, and some of it might seem unnecessarily...restraining? But there's a Court in Rhemuth that at times has more power than even the Court of King Kelson, and that's the Court of public opinion. Even the King's favorites have at times fallen afoul of it. One of my jobs is to help you learn how not to make the sort of missteps that will make your life more difficult in Rhemuth society."

Ailidh nudged a knee closer to Sophie to establish contact, then mind-sent, _Screw Rhemuth society_.

Sophie's lips twitched in suppressed amusement. _Ailidh! I do believe that's language unbecoming a lady!_

_ Screw being a lady then._

"All right then, ladies, you're free for the rest of the afternoon. If you wish, you may explore the castle grounds, though I want you all to stick together." She smiled. "I believe Duke Nigel is training some of the young men in archery over on the practice grounds this afternoon, if you would like something interesting to watch." She laughed as three sets of eyes lit up. "Yes, I thought that pastime might meet your approval. Just be back by sundown. We will be dining with the Duke of Corwyn's household tonight."

Sophie edged a hand over to make contact with Celsie's. _Maybe your Lord Derry will be there!_

Celsie's cheeks turned pink as she sent back, _He's not _my_ Lord Derry._

Sophie smiled. _Umhmm. Yet, _she teased.

_Whatever, Your Future Majesty_, Celsie teased back, watching Sophie stifle a laugh in turn.

#

The three young ladies-in-waiting clapped politely as the last of Duke Nigel's squires finished his turn on the archery field. The young men began to pick up their equipment to clear the field. Ailidh stood suddenly and headed for the exit stairs of the viewing stand.

"Where's she going," Celsie said in confusion. "We're supposed to stick together!"

"I don't know. But we'd better go catch up with her."

Sophie and Celsie rushed to follow. Ailidh, meanwhile, had moved to the center of the field near where Duke Nigel stood. She stopped several yards away, awaiting acknowledgement that he was aware of her presence before dipping into a perfectly proper curtsy before him. "If it please Your Highness," she said, fighting back an unexpected wave of shyness, "I used to practice with my brothers back home in Marlor, and I'm a little homesick." She smiled winsomely. "Might I try my hand at a bow before you put them all up for the afternoon?"

Sophie and Celsie almost skidded to a stop, mouths agape, as they realized who Ailidh was talking to. Duke Nigel looked down at Ailidh, then behind her at her friends, with an amused twinkle in his gray eyes.

"I don't suppose there'd be any harm in that, as long as you're very careful with the equipment. These are practice arrows, so they're blunt enough. I can't stay to oversee you, though; I've a prior appointment."

"Oh, we wouldn't wish to delay you, Your Highness!" Sophie hastily assured him with a warning glance at Ailidh."

Nigel looked from her to Ailidh, nearly quivering with eagerness, and suppressed a smile. "Oh, I have a few minutes. And Rory might not mind sticking around a bit longer, especially if I tell him three lovely young ladies are wanting to try their hand at archery." His smile broke free at Ailidh's grateful grin.

"Thank you, Your Highness!"

"Let's see..." Nigel fitted Ailidh's forearm with a leather bracer to protect it from the bowstring, then took a look at the selection of bows on hand. "Would you happen to know how many pounds you can draw?" He examined one bow, stringing it for her, then gave Ailidh's form a considering look. "Try this one. Go ahead and nock an arrow and draw, but don't release."

Ailidh tried the bow he handed her, but wasn't able to draw to full extension. "This one's a little too heavy," she said.

The Duke nodded. "Yes, I was afraid of that. No matter; I think this one will work better for you." He handed her another bow. This time she was able to draw the bowstring into proper position, sighting down the arrow at the target.

"Not bad," Nigel said. "Your stance is decent, you're side-on to the target...this foot could stand to be just a bit farther back, though." He nudged the foot in question with his boot, and Ailidh moved it as instructed. "How does that feel?"

Ailidh nodded. "More comfortable, Your Highness."

"All right. If you feel ready, go ahead and shoot once. Let's see how you do."

Sophie and Celsie watched in awe as their friend nocked the arrow and then drew the string again, focusing intently on the target for a moment before releasing. The arrow flew across the gap between archer and target, managing to hit it, although landing a handspan outside of the coveted innermost circle.

Ailidh glanced up at the Iron Duke. "Might I try again?"

"Of course. Try six more shots, and this time, remember your follow-through. You took your eyes off the target too early that last time. When was the last time you practiced with your brothers?"

"About two years ago. Before my mother decided my time would be better spent poking fabric with needles instead." She wrinkled her nose at the thought. The Duke suppressed a grin.

"All right, try again. Go ahead and take all six shots while I watch."

Ailidh took a deep breath, released it, then drew her first arrow, nocking it and pulling the string taut. She took careful aim and then released, this time careful not to take her eyes off the target even as the arrow struck home and she reached up to take the next one out of the quiver. Five more time she repeated this process, until the target was studded with six arrows. Two made it into the edge of the red circle at the center, although the other four missed it, coming fairly close on either side.

Nigel nodded. "That's not too bad, especially if you've not held a bow in two years. You need to work on your anchoring, though. You're inconsistent in your anchoring point, and that's affecting your marksmanship. Also, once or twice you looked like you might have been moving your head slightly down towards the string as you were drawing, rather than drawing the string fully to your face."

"My anchoring point, Your Highness?"

"The point you're drawing the bowstring back to. It needs to be the same point each time. Try the center of your chin; that works for a lot of people, though if you find it's not working for you, you might need to pick another point that works better. The main thing is that you need to be consistent." Nigel smiled. "All right, I'm afraid I need to go, but I'll see if I can find Rory to take over the lesson, now that I'm reasonably confident you actually have some notion of what you're doing and won't accidentally shoot holes in my son."

Sophie and Celsie giggled. Ailidh pretended to glare at them. "_They _might!"

The gray Haldane eyes crinkled at the corners. "I'll warn him to armor up, then." He bowed courteously over each lady's hand, then left the field.

"He _spoke_ to us!" Sophie whispered, still in awe, once Nigel was fully out of earshot. "And he gave you an archery lesson!" Her eyes were shining with excitement.

"Yes, I know," Ailidh whispered back. "I was _there_!"

Celsie giggled at the two of them. "Do you think they'll let us try too? Not that I'd have any clue what to do." She smiled. "I thought you did really well, though; much better than I probably will. I'll be lucky just to hit the target!"

"Oh, it's really not that hard, once you've got the hang of it." Ailidh put the bow down to unlace the leather bracer on her arm. "Here, someone else can have a turn. You want to go next, Celsie?"

The blonde shook her head swiftly. "No, I'll just watch first. Sophie, why don't you have a go?"

Sophie looked nervous, but she nodded, offering her left arm for Ailidh to cover with the bracer.

"I don't suppose you should actually try shooting until Prince Rory gets here," Ailidh said, "but there'd probably be no harm in me at least getting you in the right position. Here's how I stand." Ailidh resumed her shooting stance, standing side-on to the target. "Make sure your feet are in this stance, and you don't ever want to turn your feet or your knees forward. And don't twist your upper body either. Only your head and arms should move." She handed Sophie the bow. "Now you try. But whatever you do, if you pull back on the string, don't just release it from that position unless you're actually shooting an arrow. That's bad for the string. My brothers jumped all over me for that once."

Sophie nodded, taking the bow. She drew the string experimentally. "Oh dear, it's harder than it looks!"

"Is it too hard for you to draw?" Ailidh asked.

"I _think_ it's all right, if I don't have to hold it this way for _too_ long. Now what?"

"I'm no expert, but I think you might need an arrow," Celsie teased.

Ailidh laughed. "Yes." She pulled an arrow out of the quiver, showing Sophie how to nock and hold it. "All right. Now you need to learn how to sight down it to the target." She took a step back, bobbing a deep curtsy at someone approaching from behind Sophie. Behind her, she heard Celsie's quick intake of breath.

Sophie hesitated, thinking she should acknowledge Prince Rory's approach, but not sure she dared to move at that moment, with an arrow nocked and ready on her bow. Before she could consider what to do, a touch under her right elbow nudged it up a few inches as a male voice said, "Keep this elbow raised. Your forearm should be in a straight line, like so."

She froze, recognizing the voice, then turned her head slightly towards the speaker. "You're not Prince Rory!" she managed.

"No, I'm not," the voice said, sounding almost apologetic, "though he should be along presently. There was an errand he needed to attend to first. Your eyes should be locked on the target."

"My eyes...Oh!" Sophie returned her attention, or tried to, to what she was doing, sighting carefully down the arrow towards the target. In the periphery of her vision, she caught a glimpse of a black sleeved arm and a ringed hand reaching to correct her grip on the bow. "You're gripping a bit too tight, my lady. Relax." After a moment, he took a step back, away from her, giving her form a quick perusal before saying. "All right, when you're ready, go ahead and shoot."

She tried to ignore the nervous flutter in her stomach as she released the arrow. It flew from the bow, cutting a wobbly path through the air before grazing the edge of the target and flying past it. Sophie winced, then lowered the bow and turned to dip in a belated curtsy at the King. He nodded absently, though his gaze followed the path the arrow had taken for a moment before he turned his full attention back to her.

"Did you notice that fishtailing when the arrow was in flight? That's why you want to relax your grip a bit more next time. Otherwise, when you release, your bow is going to tilt slightly and hit the arrow before it's fully cleared, which knocks it a bit off course." He smiled. "Your first attempt at archery?"

"Yes, Sire." She swallowed.

He nodded. "Don't worry, I've seen far worse. You actually hit the target, even if it was a glancing shot. The first time I tried shooting an arrow, it hit the ground and then came bouncing back at me. Disconcerting, that. And that's why you keep that right elbow raised." He smiled, looking past her as another person approached. "Ah, it looks like Rory is free now. If you ladies will excuse me?" Kelson bowed graciously, then turned to his cousin. "I think the lady needs a slightly lighter bow. Perhaps your old one would work."

Celsie edged over to Sophie as the two men spoke, nudging her elbow at the same time she reached out a hand to brush Ailidh's. _He _spoke_ to us!_ Celsie mind-spoke, deliberately echoing Sophie's earlier words to Ailidh with a mental giggle. _And he gave you an archery lesson!_

Ailidh barely stifled a laugh.

"All right, whose turn is it next?" Prince Rory asked, looking delighted to have been chosen to play archery tutor for three of Rhemuth's newest ladies-in-waiting. His eyes lit on Celsie. "Have _you_ tried yet?"

"Um...not yet..."

Kelson deftly extricated himself from their company, allowing himself an amused grin as he heard the giggling ladies behind him attending to his cousin's tutelage.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sophie touched Celsie's hand briefly as she reached for a morsel of food on their shared trencher. _He's taller than I realized,_ she mind-sent.

_Who is?_ Celsie returned. _"His Grace?"_

Sophie stole another glance at the Duke of Corwyn, a few places down the table, then hastily looked back down at her food. _Yes. And I never in my wildest dreams thought I'd ever be sitting at a table with him either. Father would have apoplexy!_

Celsie hid a smile behind her goblet. _He's nice. A bit scary at first, but really, it's mostly just his reputation. Once you see him around his family, it's hard to be scared of him. _She looked thoughtful. _Well, I suppose if one were up to no good, he could still be very scary. He_ is_ quite powerful. But _you _needn't be scared of him!_

_Oh, I'm_ not! _Well, not_ of _him, anyway. More_ for _him, sometimes. I know it's less dangerous to be openly Deryni than it used to be, but what if things ever change back again?_

_ You can take the Deryni out of Nyford, but you can't take growing up near Nyford out of the secret Deryni, is that it? _Celsie riposted.

Sophie sighed audibly. _Pretty much, yes. But I'm trying to get over that. _Her eyes drifted further down the table, landing on Bishop Duncan McLain, who was smiling at something Richenda had just said. He had arrived at dinner slightly late, straight from an evening Mass, and was back to wearing episcopal purple again, much to Sophie's relief. For a while after that Ash Wednesday service when she'd gathered up her shaky courage to go forward to receive the ashes from a known Deryni bishop's hands—her own symbolic gesture of seeking freedom from the chains of silence which had long bound her—he had been inexplicably absent from public life for a while. She'd gone to Mass at various times in hopes of seeing him again, but he'd not been at any. She heard later that he had taken ill, but given the timing of his sudden illness, she hoped the rumor was actually true and that he was not in some grave danger from his act of courage in revealing his Deryni heritage at his son's knighting ceremony the day before. Her Lenten prayers had been filled with intercessions for the Deryni bishop's safety, and when she'd later learned of the tragedy that had befallen his son as well as the King—or so the entire Kingdom had believed at the time—she'd wept for both. Alienora, of course, had thought their deaths were due to divine retribution. Their apparent resurrection a few weeks later was much harder for her to explain, so as with other truths too unpalatable for her to swallow, she chose to ignore it instead. But Sophie had privately rejoiced.

And now she sat at the same table with them, these two heroic Deryni she'd admired so long from afar. It seemed scarcely believable.

Celsie, for her part, had hardly touched the food on her end of the trencher. She was trying to look attentive to the conversation between Duchess Richenda and her husband's cousin the bishop, but her gaze kept drifting down the table from them to Sean Earl Derry. Derry was carrying on a quiet but animated conversation with the Contessa about something Celsie couldn't quite hear, but it was evidently extremely amusing, given the Contessa's occasional outburst of laughter. As he spoke, the Earl was carving the meat on the trencher they shared, gallantly serving the best morsels on his dinner partner's side of their shared meal. She dropped her eyes back to her own plate. _It's none of my business,_ she told herself sternly.

_Are you all right? _ Ailidh mind-spoke to Celsie. _You've hardly touched your meal._

Celsie shrugged, surreptitiously pushing some of her food to Sophie's side of their trencher while Sophie was distracted. _I'm just not all that hungry tonight, I suppose. I haven't eaten this richly in years. Not at Chervignon, anyway._

Ailidh couldn't help but agree. This wasn't even a formal feast, but there was no question that even the private dining here in Rhemuth Castle was much better than she'd been accustomed to before coming to Court. Oh, there had been the occasional feast in Transha at old Cauley's keep, back in the day, or in later years the occasional feast in Marlor that had been quite fine, but as for her day-to-day fare, she was used to far simpler dining. Not that she had any complaints about the food and the service available here at the King's Court. Far from it! She reminded herself not to shovel down her food as if drought and famine were just around the next corner. The Contessa would hardly thank her from wallowing in her trencher like a sow. She suppressed a grin at the thought, though.

The meal was winding down, though. A final remove was served, pastries made of thin, flaky layersovf dough stuffed with a creamy filling and drizzled with rose syrup. Ailidh nibbled delicately on hers, closing her eyes to better concentrate on the flavor, barely resisting the urge to lick the sticky syrup off her fingertips when she was done. _ I wish Dhugal were here._ The thought came at her out of nowhere. She dipped her sticky fingertips in the finger bowl offered to her after the meal, wiping off the remaining scented water and residue with a clean towel.

The Contessa stood. "Thank you for the wonderful meal and the equally delightful company," she said to her cousin the Duchess, "but I'm afraid I need to get my young ladies back to our apartment. It's growing late, and they've a few duties to attend to before we retire for the night."

"We've truly enjoyed having them dine with us tonight," Duchess Richenda answered. "And you, of course, Stanzi!"

"Indeed," Duke Alaric agreed. "Hopefully we can do this again soon. In the meantime, though, may I offer to escort you and yours back to your chambers?"

"Actually, my apartment is just a short distance beyond theirs," Earl Derry interjected, with a smile directed at the visiting ladies. "I'd be glad to escort them back, unless you just happen to be headed that way as well."

"In that case, I'll entrust them to your care. Assuming you have no objection, Contessa?"

"None at all." Her dark blue-violet eyes smiled up at Derry briefly before she left his side to take her leave of her cousin with an affectionate embrace. "Good night, _mi cara_."

"Good night, Stanzi." Richenda returned the hug. "Shall I call on you after breakfast tomorrow?"

"Do!" The Contessa glanced at her ladies-in-waiting. "I've some ideas I wish to discuss with you regarding certain ….educational matters, especially if I can sweet-talk you into assisting me with some of them." She grinned.

"Oh? In that case, I quite look forward to hearing your ideas."

Derry opened the apartment door for Constanza and her ladies-in-waiting, favoring each with a smile that was now both equally impartial yet equally charming. As they walked back to their own quarters, he entertained them all with a brief tale about one of his misadventures as a young squire , leaving them nearly breathless with laughter by the time they reached the door to their own chambers. Taking their hands to bid them each goodnight with a courtly kiss above each, he took their leave of them.

"You look to be in better spirits now," Ailidh teased Celsie once they had finished their few evening chores and bid the Contessa a final goodnight for the evening. Ailidh sat on the edge of Celsie's bed, helping her braid her long tresses in preparation for sleep.

Celsie sighed, dimpling at Ailidh and Sophie as she held up the hand Derry had kissed. "I may never wash my hand again," she joked.

Sophie, washing her face at the basin, laughed. "Remind me never to share a trencher with you again, then!" She returned to her bed, throwing herself backwards onto it with a satisfied sigh. "Is it a sin to be just a little bit in love with both a married Duke and a Bishop?"

Ailidh rolled her eyes at both of them. "You two are impossible! I'm so glad I'm over men."

"Umhmm. _Sure_ you are," Sophie agreed. "And your eyes _never _light up when a certain Duke from the borders walks by."

Ailidh shook her head, starting to braid her own hair. "We're just friends. He's a Duke now, and I'm..."

"You're what?" Sophie asked, when Ailidh didn't complete the sentence.

"Not exactly duchess material." She met Sophie's eyes with a smile and casual shrug. "So...if you're half in love with a Bishop, I guess he can't also be your confessor. Wouldn't that be awkward?" She grinned.

Sophie noticed the redirection, but laughed anyway. "I suppose it would be!" _ I wonder what Ailidh's trying to hide?_ she wondered. _Do _you_ know_? she mentally asked Celsie later, once Ailidh stepped out briefly to visit the garderobe.

_I'm not really sure,_ Celsie had replied, _but I think she had a romance once that went wrong. _

_ Ah. Yes, that could explain it,_ she thought, feeling sympathy for her borderer friend.

Ailidh returned. The three girls settled into their beds, the exhaustion of the long day beckoning them into the arms of sweet slumber.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Nearly a fortnight had passed since the dinner party in the Duke and Duchess of Corwyn's apartment. The young ladies-in-waiting had started to settle into both the routine of Rhemuth court life and the more arcane training that the Contessa, with the occasional help of Duchess Richenda, was providing for them. This evening, however, presented an unexpected mystery and some impromptu lessons in dealing with the arcane.

"Where do you think she's gone?" Ailidh nic Ardry stared at the wood paneling beside the sitting room fireplace, her gray-green eyes filled with puzzlement.

"I have no idea," Sophie said, "but what _I_ want to know is, why didn't she just use the door?"

Celsie walked over to the wall, running her palm over the dark polished wood. "It tingles!" she informed her roommates. "I'll bet there's a secret passage behind it."

"Well, of _course_ there's a secret passage behind it! You didn't think she just merged with the castle wall, did you?" Ailidh began to giggle. "Where do you think it goes?" She turned to face Sophie. "Exactly what did you see?"

"Well...I'm really not sure," Sophie said uncertainly. "I was just about to walk out here and ask her if we could ride out beyond the city wall tomorrow, but when I peeked out the door, the Contessa was standing there looking at the wall with her back to me. She did _something_...it looked like she was writing in the air with her hand, and then part of the wall moved! She walked through, and it closed behind her." She shrugged. "I have no idea what she actually _did,_ though."

"But she didn't see you?" Celsie's sky blue eyes were wide with mingled awe and alarm.

"No, I don't think so. She seemed pretty...focused?"

"And I don't imagine she was expecting any of us to be out of bed," Ailidh added. "It _was_ a good two hours after we'd retired for the night."

Celsie turned back towards the wall, running her hands over it. "Come here; you can feel the edge." The other girls approached, and she moved back to give them a chance to feel the hidden portal for themselves. "This is so amazing!" She looked thoughtful. "I wonder if Chervignon has any hidden passages I don't know about? Probably not. They're probably only in major fortresses, or really old castles." She tilted her head, considering that thought. "I wonder if Coroth has any?"

"_I _wonder where the passage comes out," Sophie said. "It's got to go somewhere."

Ailidh nodded. "True. You wouldn't build a secret corridor and have it just dead-end, and if it were just a hidden chamber, surely she'd have come back out by now."

Sophie shrugged. "Well, it depends on why she was in there, I suppose. I mean, it could be she's in the middle of some sort of Deryni ritual or something."

Celsie looked at her curiously. "I suppose, but what sort of ritual? And if that were the case, wouldn't she show us what she's doing? I mean, she_ is _training us."

Ailidh snorted. "True, she's training us, but we're still fledglings. She'd hardly show us any of the _truly_ arcane rituals yet. But I don't think that's what she's doing. Sophie, can you show me what you saw?"

Sophie's green-gold eyes brightened. "I think so!" She reached a hand to clasp Ailidh's, unsure if she could communicate the images to her without the physical link yet, since Ailidh's mind touch was still somewhat unfamiliar compared to the much more familiar mental presence her brother had been, and sent her memory of what she'd witnessed across the link to her friend.

_The Contessa Constanza, clad in her favorite dark blue-violet satin dressing gown that Sophie had once noticed perfectly matched her eyes, stood before the paneled wall, her sable hair unbound and tumbling down nearly to her waist. She raised a slender hand, sketching a glyph in the air. The panel before her slid to one side, exposing a dark corridor within. Cupping her hand, the Contessa produced a ball of pale violet handfire and stepped forward into the darkness. Within seconds, the panel slid closed behind her, sealing the wall so thoroughly there was no sign to show it had ever opened._

Ailidh withdrew from the mental link with a knowing nod. "Aye, I thought as much. It's a man."

Celsie looked torn between shocked and intrigued. "Why do you say that?"

Ailidh re-examined the mental images more closely. "Well...she's not exactly dressed in outdoor clothing, so she's clearly not going outside. The direction that wall runs, one end of the corridor probably ends up outside in that courtyard near St. Hilary's, if the corridor runs straight rather than turning. So she's likely headed in the opposite direction, which means she can only come out someplace within the Castle itself. I'd bet that there's more than one of these apartments that open up into that passageway. I think maybe it was once a secret escape system, perhaps built so that residents could escape in case of a fire or a siege."

"Or so _Deryni_ could escape, you mean," Sophie amended. "I don't think a human without powers could find their way into the corridor."

"Or maybe it was just built to allow the Haldane Kings easier access to women they fancied?" Ailidh mused. "I'd not put that past some of them."

Celsie laughed. "Oh, surely not!" She shot a look at Sophie. "Though if King Kelson ends up walking through that wall some evening, should Ailidh and I disappear for an hour or two and leave you two to get better acquainted?"

Sophie turned scarlet, but giggled. "You'd better _not_! I just like to look at him; I wouldn't have a clue what to do if I actually _caught_ him!"

Ailidh looked like she was about to make a suggestion, but thought better of it. Instead, she said, "Getting back to the Contessa, she probably exited the corridor into someone else's apartment. And given that she was dressed in her very nicest dressing gown, and probably wearing nothing but her nightshift beneath it—unless she laced _herself_ into something..." She paused to allow her fellow ladies-in-waiting time to recognize the unlikelihood of that, given the wardrobe the Contessa had brought to Rhemuth. "Now, who would she be visiting while dressed in her nightclothes?"

All three girls were stumped. Finally, Celsie ventured, "Duchess Richenda? We know they're cousins, and they seem quite close. Maybe she was just in the mood for some lady chat."

Sophie giggled and shook her head. "Oh, I'll grant she might be missing some girl time with Her Grace, but really, Celsie, she can hardly be visiting Richenda in her nightclothes with Duke Alaric in residence in the same apartment! At least I'd _hope _not!"

"Oh. Oh dear. You're right!" Celsie laughed. "I'd forgot about that." Her cheeks turned pink.

"Yes," said Ailidh, "unless the new motto for the Ducal House of Corwyn is 'The more, the merrier,' I think we can safely surmise she's not with Duchess Richenda. No, as I said, it's a man."

Sophie looked uncomfortable. "Well, I suppose it's none of our business, really. I mean, she_ shouldn't_ be slipping out to meet with a man, especially in her night clothes, but if she_ is_, then that's between her and her confessor, isn't it? It really would be best if she remarried, but she's already buried three husbands, which has _got_ to be heartbreaking, and she told my mother once that she can't have children. Maybe she's afraid no one would want her anymore, since she's barren and her courtship years are behind her?"

"Well, _someone_ evidently does." Ailidh shook her head. "Men!"

"Hm. I wonder….." Celsie mused.

Sophie glanced at her warily. "You wonder what?" A sudden thought had just struck her as well, and she wondered if Celsie were thinking the same thing. No, she decided after a moment, probably not. Celsie would look far more distressed than intrigued if she were.

"I wonder if we could get the door to open?" Celsie asked, her blue eyes brightening. "And I wonder how far the secret passage goes, and if there are more of them? Imagine how much faster we could get through the Castle if we only knew the short cuts?"

Ailidh raised her eyebrows. "Oh, aye…and the ways in and out of the passage, and if the same method for getting into it works for getting someone back out again! It would be a sorry fate, to be trapped in a dark secret passage for hours on end, or even days, until the next time La Contessa decides she's up for another kiss and a cuddle, now wouldn't it?" Still, Ailidh was looking increasingly more intrigued herself. "Though I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try, as long as we all stuck together, and no one went in before we all know for certain how to get the door open again from the outside."

"You mean, if we can figure out how to open it again, one of us can go in and see if the same way works for getting back out?" Celsie asked.

"Aye. And if it doesn't, there'd still be someone on the outside who could let you back out," Ailidh said.

"Me?!" Celsie squeaked. The other girls giggled.

"Well, whoever goes through first," Sophie said, slowly beginning to warm up to the idea, at least as long as proper safety precautions were to be taken. "But we wouldn't want to be caught at it," she added. "What if the Contessa comes back and sees us? She'd know we know her secret!"

Ailidh considered this. "We could still try it in twos," she ventured, "and the other could find some reason to get her out of the apartment for a specified time. Or maybe just serve as a lookout while she's gone. She _does_ leave us by ourselves in the apartment from time to time, after all." She shrugged. "Of course, it's all a moot point if we can't figure out how she got that panel to open in the first place."

Sophie nodded. "Oh, you know, we_ could_ just ask her how she does it."

Ailidh and Celsie both stared. "Are you _mad_?!" Ailidh finally answered, laughing uproariously. "Oh, Contessa Constanza, we saw you walk through a wall in your best night-rail late last night. Would you show _us_ that trick, so we can go walking about Rhemuth Castle at all hours too? We promise not to get up to any mischief, and we'll certainly swear not to end up in any handsome squires' bedchambers…."

Sophie burst out laughing. "Well, if you're going to put it like _that_!"

Celsie stared at the wall for a long moment, then tentatively raised her hand and sketched out the glyph she'd seen Constanza draw in the air. Nothing happened. "Oh well. It was worth a try," she said, looking disappointed.

"There's probably more to the spell than just drawing the symbol," Ailidh said, patting Celsie's shoulder. "Let _me_ try." Ailidh took a deep breath, then closed her eyes, centering herself. Once she felt ready, she opened her eyes again, fixing a focused gaze on the panel, imagining it sliding open and then, as she raised her hand to sketch the secret glyph, _willing_ it so. The door didn't open, but just at the edges, it seemed to shimmer just a bit.

"You did _something_!" Sophie said excitedly. "I think whatever you did, you were on the right track! What _did_ you do?"

Ailidh, grinning widely, took both of her friends' hands, mentally sharing what she'd done to affect the door panel. They both nodded understanding of the basic process, but before they could attempt it themselves, Sophie heard a muffled sound from the other side of the paneling.

_She's coming back!_ she mind-spoke.

The girls went scurrying back to their bedchamber. A few seconds later, they heard a faint sliding noise, then soft footfalls walking through the apartment's shared sitting room towards the Contessa's private rooms. Her door closed quietly.

_Maybe we can try again tomorrow, when she leaves. I think she was planning on visiting Duchess Meraude tomorrow afternoon," _Ailidh shared.

_Sounds good! Should one of us ask to go with her, so she can send a warning to the others when we're heading back this way? _Sophie asked.

_Probably a good idea,_ Celsie agreed. _I'll ask to go. Ailidh nearly got the door to work when she tried, so she ought to stay here, and you're the one who saw how it worked in the first place, so you probably should stay with her, in case she needs to take a closer look at that memory again. Just please, if you figure out how to do it, show me how it's done later? And do be _very _careful! Don't either of you try going into the passage until you've both practiced opening it lots of times and know for sure you can do it again, all right?_

_ We won't, _Ailidh assured her._ We promise. _

_ Yes. Absolutely! _Sophie mind-spoke with a decisive nod. _We'll wait until you can be here and we've taught you what we've learned before we try that._

_ All right, then! _In the darkness of the bedchamber, Celsie hugged herself under the bedsheets with delighted glee, and fell asleep dreaming of discovering the hidden mysteries of Rhemuth Castle.

And not all that far away, the Contessa also dreamed, her sleeping mind reliving heated memories of a most delightful evening.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_All right, she's been gone for about a quarter hour; unless she's returned without me detecting her, I think we're safe, _Ailidh mind-spoke to her sisters in conspiracy as she cracked the sitting room door open slightly to make sure the chamber was empty. Seeing it was, she ventured out, mentally preparing an excuse for being out of bed in case she was mistaken and the Contessa emerged from her bedchamber or, possibly worse, from the secret passageway. She walked quietly across the shared chamber to the Contessa's private rooms on the other side, and listened at her bedchamber door. There was complete silence on the other side. Bracing herself, she opened the door quietly, extending her senses into the room. Nothing. The bedcurtains were open, showing quite clearly that the Contessa was not simply sleeping, despite the lateness of the hour. Neither was she in the garderobe Ailidh passed as she returned to her friends awaiting her in their shared bedchamber.

"I was right; she's gone. "

The other two girls eagerly sprang out of bed, ready to put their recent furtive experimentations to a final test. "All right, it's time to practice first," Sophie said, standing before the hidden door. Thinking back over what she and her friends had discovered over the previous few days, she centered herself, using the shiral in her ring to help her focus her mind beforehand, and then, once she felt the moment was right, she transferred her concentration to the door, signing the glyph in the air and willing it to open. A split second later, there was an empty space in the wall where one panel had been. It lingered for a few seconds before sliding shut again.

Celsie suppressed a squeal of glee. "All right; my turn!" She tried her hand at the spell. The door opened for her also, more slowly at the outset, but once it closed again she gave it a second attempt and this time the response was more prompt. She turned to Ailidh. "And now you."

Ailidh stepped forward, summoning up her concentration, and worked the spell. The door opened without any hesitation, surprising no one since, of the three girls, she'd had the most practice with it. "All right then, now that we know we can do this part of it, who wants to go in first?"

Sophie hesitated, then drew a deep breath. "I'll go. Should I just wait for you to let me out after, or do you want me to go ahead and see if I can get out the same way we get in?"

"Oh, go ahead and try," Celsie said. "Might as well, since it won't do us any good to know we can get in if we can't figure out how to get back out after."

Ailidh nodded. "She's right. Go in, and once the door closes, we'll wait for a short while to see if you can open it from the inside. How long should we wait, about a minute?"

Sophie nodded. "That sounds about right. Or if you hear me knocking." She looked a little panic-stricken suddenly. "If the Contessa starts to come back, I doubt I'd be able to summon up the focus I need to do the opening spell, so _please_ listen for a knock, just in case!"

"We will." Ailidh gestured towards the wall. "No time like the present, though. If the Contessa stays gone as long as she's done the last two times, she'll probably be away for another hour at the very least, but there's nothing to say she won't come back sooner this time, and we don't want to get caught at this."

Sophie took a bracing breath, released it, then worked the spell again. This time, as the door opened, she slipped inside, turning to face her friends as the door slid quietly shut again. Ailidh and Celsie waited for several long moments, growing more concerned as time passed and Sophie didn't re-emerge, although neither of them heard her knock from the other side. Just as Ailidh was about to use the opening spell on the panel to let her back into the room, it slid open again and Sophie quickly stepped back out, breathing quickly and looking a little pale, but with excitement shining in her eyes.

As soon as the panel shut behind her, the words came tumbling out. "All right, the first thing to keep in mind before you try this yourself is that once that door shuts, it's _dark_ in there! I mean the sort of dark that's so complete, you can't see something directly in front of your face! I had a brief moment of panic, and couldn't summon handfire at first, even though I've done it lots of times, but once I calmed myself and focused, I was able to call some up. There are some torches in the corridor, but the closest is several feet away, and of course they're not lit, so you'll want to be prepared to use handfire. But the good thing is, I got out exactly the same way I got in—once I managed to calm myself enough to do it, that is. And you can feel the door tingle from that side also. I figured we'd be able to, but it's good to know for sure, if we ever have to find our way back here in the dark." She looked thoughtful. "I wonder how many other doors there are, and if they all feel the same way or if they each feel a little different. If they feel the same way, we'll want to mark ours somehow so we'll know the right one to come back to. But we can't do it any way that's obvious, or the Contessa will notice."

"Hm." Ailidh glanced at the fireplace. "I imagine it's rather dusty in there. Maybe a smudge of soot just at the base of the door, someplace where it's not likely to get rubbed off, but low enough where no one is likely to notice it, or think it's anything more than a bit of old grime if they do?"

"That could work." Sophie walked over to the fireplace, finding a bit of charred tinder that would do for leaving such a mark, and grinned. "Who wants to come with me?"

Ailidh and Celsie both made an eager rush for the secret door.

#

"Let's see...I have some Vézairi port, or would you prefer some of your father's fine vintage?"

Derry glanced back over his shoulder at Constanza, who was leaning back against one of his pillows.

She made a slight moue of distaste as he mentioned the latter option, her eyes flitting away briefly. "The port, I think."

He poured her a goblet full of the dark liquid, bringing it to her. "I'm sorry. Did I touch on that old wound?" he asked softly.

She shrugged, taking the drink from him and sipping it slowly, then offered up an apologetic smile. "Sorry about the reaction. My father and I are not on the best of terms these days, so I prefer to avoid any reminders of him. It was bad enough he saddled me with that ghastly excuse for a husband, Aumeric, but now he's after me to marry another man of his choosing." She rolled her eyes. "I don't think it's occurred to him that I'm not a biddable young fifteen year old anymore."

"Personally, I find that one of your more charming qualities," Derry teased. He returned to his side of the bed with his own goblet of port.

Stanzi laughed. "What, that I'm not fifteen, or that I've a mind of my own?"

"Both." He grinned. "So, what's the problem with _this _suitor?" He stretched his long legs out before him, sipping at his port.

"Well, this one at least fancies women. At fifteen, I suspect I was a trifle overripe for Aumeric's tastes."

Derry choked slightly. "Good God!"

"Let's see...I don't know all that much about _this_ man, except that he's quite wealthy, politically advantageous enough to make my father drool, he's close to twice my age, and has seven sons and five daughters, so my barrenness isn't exactly an issue." She shrugged. "Apparently he met me once and took a liking to me."

"Well, I can't blame him for _that_. At least he has good taste in women."

Stanzi gave Derry a wry smile. "Granted, my Giovanni was also an older widower with an heir and several spares, but there was a huge difference—I adored him. But I am _not_ going to be wrangled into marrying a man on the basis of having shared a trencher with him once at a state feast. Would _you_ suddenly develop an overwhelming desire to wed and bed on the basis of one shared meal?"

Derry laughed. "Bed, maybe, if my dinner partner were charming enough, but that would have to be one hell of a feast to induce me to marry!"

"So heavy a feast, you couldn't run afterwards?" Stanzi chuckled. "That's what I thought." She reached behind her to fluff up the pillow she was reclining upon. A small folded square of fabric fluttered out from the pillowcase. She picked it up to replace it, but as her fingertips contacted the embroidered corner, she nearly dropped it again, startled. She unfolded the handkerchief, her eyes curious as she studied the Derry arms neatly stitched on the corner.

"This is lovely work, Sean. Did Richenda make this for you?"

Derry looked slightly sheepish as he glanced down at the almost forgotten gift. "Actually, no, it was a present from Lady Celsie." He looked a bit self-conscious as Stanzi's startled gaze flitted back up towards his face. "She said she made it to thank me for helping her re-establish her household at Chervignon."

Constanza stared. "_Celsie_ made this?"

He nodded. "That's what she said." He shrugged. "I was surprised too. It looks like very highly skilled embroidery."

"Yes, quite, but that's not where the true talent lies." She studied the stitchery intently. Derry sat up, considering her interest with a thoughtful frown. At last she looked up to meet his gaze. "You have no idea what this is, do you, _caro_?"

He stared at the handkerchief. "No...I suppose I _don't_. What do _you_ see?"

She lifted the square of fabric. "This is a highly elaborate spell of protection Celsie has stitched into your handkerchief, yet with her powers so newly awakened and her conscious knowledge of how to access them still so fresh, I suspect she hasn't a clue how strong a magic this is. She probably doesn't even know she's worked magic at all, as odd as that might sound." She handed the square back to him. "This ought to be kept in your doublet or tucked up your sleeve, not hidden in your pillowcase. Unless you're afraid some jealous husband plans to come after you some evening while you sleep?"

He took Celsie's gift, shaking his head a trifle distractedly. "No chance of that. I don't bed married women." He studied the Derry arms with a curious mixture of wariness and wonder. "How would she have worked a spell of protection without knowing it?" he asked.

"The stitches she used come from a specialized type of cording lore, an ancient Deryni art nearly lost now. But they're not magic in and of themselves; the power in them comes from the focus of her thoughts that were bound into the stitchery as she was embroidering the spell." Her eyes drifted from the needlework back up to Derry's face, a glimmer of amusement shining in their depths. "My guess, knowing our Celsie, is that there's an ardent prayer for your protection bound up in every stitch of these arms." Her lips twitched with suppressed laughter. "Thank God she wasn't praying for your chastity!" She gave her lover a considering look. "So, my student has a bit of a _tendresse_ for her rescuer, does she? A fair bit of hero worship?"

Derry flushed. "It will pass, I'm sure."

"Hm. Perhaps." She reached across the short distance between them to trail a fingertip along his bare shoulder. "Still, I suppose we ought to be doubly discreet, _caro mio_. I would hate to hurt the dear girl."

#

"So, how many doorways did you find on your end of the corridor?" Ailidh asked Sophie once the girls met once again in front of their own hidden door.

Sophie glanced at Celsie. "I counted ten, but we didn't make it quite to the end. Celsie thought she heard a noise, so we doused the handfire and waited for a bit in the dark to make sure no one was coming, and then we decided maybe we should head back. What about you?"

"Eight, I think," Ailidh said. "And another passage that branches off in a different direction."

"We need to get a map of Rhemuth Castle; maybe that way we could figure out where the passages might lead and where the doors open into, and that would help us make a map of our own," Celsie offered. "Any idea where we might find one, though?"

Sophie thought for a moment, then brightened. "I'll bet the Royal Library would have some old maps, including some from when the Castle was first built! I doubt they'd show the passages—I'm sure those were meant to remain a secret—but even so, we'd know which parts of the Castle are original and would be most likely to have passages."

"Unless the passages were added in later," Ailidh said, "but either way, we won't know until we look at some maps. Good idea, Celsie! It's too late to check tonight, though; we'd best be getting back before the Contessa returns. It would be awful to get this far and then have her catch us out wandering!"

"You're right. So…when should we go? Tomorrow morning?"

"That sounds good," Celsie said. "How about right after Mass?"

"In that case, come wake me once you're back. _Your_ Mass is way too early for me. If God had meant for us to see sunrise, He would have put it later in the day." Ailidh grinned.

The three girls cautiously opened the door to their apartment, risking a quick mental probe to ensure that Constanza hadn't returned yet, then entered swiftly, rushing into their bedchamber and hurrying through their bedtime preparations so they could catch a few hours of sleep before the next dawn.

#

Constanza lay in Derry's arms, drowsily content. She trailed a finger through one of his brown curls, watching it spring away as she reached the end of the soft tendril. "Don't let me fall asleep, Sean," she murmured.

He chuckled. "I won't, sweeting." He shifted slightly, turning onto his side to grin at her. "Just imagine facing three sets of questioning eyes if you go dragging back into your chamber after sunrise, especially if they see you entering via the wall. _That _should keep you awake."

"Sweet Jesú, and Celsie has a habit of waking up for early Mass too!" Constanza sat up. "I'd best be going." She leaned forward to bestow a lingering kiss on her lover. "Shall I try for another visit tomorrow night?"

Derry shook his head. "I may not be back by then. I've been asked to take a look at some horses for Earl Burchard's consideration, but they're being held for him in Desse, so if we end up running late, I might just spend the night there." He reached up to stroke her sable curtain of hair, pulling her back down for another, more lingering kiss before adding, "I'll send a message to you when I'm back in Rhemuth."

"Do!" Constanza slid out of bed, picking up her discarded clothing and swiftly slipping back into it. "And have a safe journey." She reached across the mattress to tousle his curls. "And I know you're a bit squeamish about magic, but carry that handkerchief!" She grinned.

Derry rolled his eyes. "Yes, my lady."

_Your Lady only in my dreams_, she thought a trifle wistfully, but carefully kept the feelings hidden, as she'd ever had to do with the skittish Earl Derry, making sure not even a hint of them crossed over into her parting smile. "Goodnight, _caro mio_."

"Good night, Stanzi."

She exited his bedchamber and made her careful way back to her own in graceful silence.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Celsie, running slightly late to catch the beginning of the early Mass, rushed breathlessly around a corner, nearly falling as she ran headlong into someone coming from a different direction. "I _do_ beg pardon!" she swiftly apologized, looking flustered as steadying arms wrapped around her briefly. Her blue eyes flew up to see whom she'd assaulted in her haste, then widened in recognition. She beamed.

"Lord Derry!" A giggle escaped her. "I'm sorry; I hope I've not bruised you!" Her cheeks turned a rosy pink.

He grinned. "I never saw the blow coming, but thankfully it was light." He released the young woman, taking a hasty step back, his eyes already giving their surroundings a quick scan, as much for surveying possible escape routes as to see who might have observed their awkward encounter.

Celsie smiled up at him hopefully. "Were you on your way to Mass, perchance?"

Derry looked briefly startled, then laughed. "No, I'm afraid not. I'm on my way to Desse to look at horses for a buyer."

"Oh." Celsie looked slightly crestfallen, but only momentarily. "But you're coming back to Rhemuth afterwards, aren't you?"

"Yes, probably tomorrow." He bowed over her hand. "I need to run on, and unless you were attempting to learn how to fly just now, I assume so do you." He straightened, giving her a cheerful grin. "By your leave, my lady."

"Safe travels, my lord." She watched as he turned to go. "Oh!" At his backwards glance, she called out, "You have your handkerchief, I hope?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I have my handkerchief." He tilted his head in the direction of the chapel. "Go now!"

Derry walked away, his long ground-eating stride taking him out of view quickly. Celsie gave a happy wistful sigh and scurried on to Mass, several minutes late but for once not caring.

#

Afterwards, Celsie stopped by her shared apartment to wake Ailidh as she'd promised. After they grabbed a quick breakfast, the two made their way down to the Royal Library, where Sophie already awaited them, a pile of old books and scrolls scattered upon the tabletop in front of her.

"All right, here's what I've found. A couple of histories of Rhemuth Castle—not much in those, though there's a few illustrations that might help—several maps of Rhemuth made in the past century, and a fairly decent map of the Castle and the surrounding grounds made about fifty years ago. I saw a few other books that looked like they might have something of interest, but they appear to be quite a bit older, and they're locked in a case, probably to keep them from being handled without permission." She lowered her voice. "There's a librarian; he offered to help me, but I didn't want to ask for access to the case unless we don't find anything useful in these. I was afraid if I tell him we're trying to find information on how the castle's laid out, he'll want to know why."

Ailidh nodded. "Well, this will do for a start," she said, pulling up a chair and grabbing a scroll. "Let's see what we have here. Oh, Celsie, can you see if there's any writing supplies we could use? We might need to take notes, or if we find something _really _helpful, make a map of our own."

Celsie checked with the young priest who was the custodian of the King's library, coming back in a few minutes carrying some parchment, a couple of pens, two bottles of ink and a sand caster. The three girls huddled together over the old books and maps, studying them intently for the next couple of hours.

By mid-afternoon, Celsie had produced a rough sketch of Rhemuth Castle's current layout, drawn in black ink, with additional markings in red ink to indicate where they thought the most likely locations for secret passages might be, starting with the one they knew about and then extrapolating from there.

"We'd probably better get back," Ailidh finally said. "If the Contessa gets back from her visit with Duchess Richenda and we're not in our apartment, she might wonder what we're up to."

"Oh, no worries," Sophie assured her. "She knows we're here. She's the one who wrote the letter requesting that the librarian give us access to the Royal Collection." She grinned.

"She knows we...she did _what_?!" Celsie said, mouth agape.

Sophie giggled. "Well, she asked me if we wanted to go with her to visit Her Grace after you got back from Mass, and I had to tell her _something_! And I couldn't very well lie, now could I, since she can Truth-Read? So I told her the truth—that we were hoping to see if we could get into the Royal Library."

Ailidh goggled at her. "You didn't tell her _why_, did you?"

Sophie's grin grew wider. "Of course I did! I told her we wanted to take a look at some maps of Rhemuth, just so that we could get more familiar with the place and hopefully not get lost during our explorations. And I told her I was curious about the castle's history as well. She thought a bit of scholarly research was a perfectly reasonable and respectable pastime for three young ladies to engage in, but she said she wasn't sure if the King granted access to his library to just anyone in residence, so she wrote a letter on our behalf in case we might need one." She laughed. "Obviously, I didn't tell her _which_ areas of the Castle we wanted to research and explore, but then again, she never asked." She picked up their newly-made sketch, checking to make sure the ink was dry and shaking the remaining bits of sand off the parchment, and then folded the small map in half and stuck it inside her sleeve. "All right then, let's get back!"

#

The three ladies-in-waiting were back in their apartment, engaged in quiet pursuits fully appropriate for demure young handmaidens, when the Contessa returned. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked them once she had gotten settled in.

"We think so," Sophie said, looking up from a small bound volume she was sketching in. "And thank you for your letter of introduction; I gave it to the priest in charge of the Library."

"Oh good; I'm glad it was helpful." Constanza glanced over at Celsie, who was diligently working on her embroidery. "What are you working on, Celsie?"

The golden-haired girl smiled. "It's going to be a pillowcase for my trousseau."

"It's quite lovely. May I take a closer look?"

Celsie handed the framed fabric to Constanza, who examined the needlework closely. This piece was worked in simple satin and chain stitches, with no resonance of latent power emanating from the work.

"Very pretty," the Contessa said, handing the piece back. She looked around. "Where's Ailidh?"

Sophie looked up. "She broke a string on her vielle. I think she's in our bedchamber looking for another one to replace it." As she finished speaking, the sound of an instrument playing a lively Border tune began to echo from the nearby room.

"She appears to have found one," the Contessa said. "Which reminds me, there's a troubadour scheduled to perform in the Great Hall tonight. I had thought we might dine there rather than up here, if you'd like to go hear him."

"Oh, yes!" Celsie exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling as she looked up from her embroidery.

"That sounds like it would be enjoyable," Sophie agreed, putting away her drawing materials and closing her book. "I'll go tell Ailidh."

Constanza glanced at the small volume Sophie was putting away. "And how are your imaginary kingdoms?" she asked with a smile.

Sophie laughed. "Well, in my brother's last letter to me, he's written my poor Queen Verliece into a corner, so now I've got to figure out a way for her to escape her predicament besides marrying the treacherous Lord Bradagante. But I think I've found a way out for her, if I can just manage to smuggle her out of the castle first. And then, once she's rejoined her loyal generals, it's war. Stefan's all but begging for it!"

Stanzi laughed. "I don't know how you two can keep track of what's going on in your game, with the delays in your messages going back and forth."

"That just gives us more time to plot each other's eventual demise," Sophie said, smiling sweetly.

_Are you really just plotting out your latest game story? _ Celsie mind-spoke to Sophie once the Contessa retired to her bedchamber to change.

_Yes. But I do believe that Queen Verliece will be escaping Bradagante's dungeons via some hidden passages I hadn't thought about creating until now. I'd considered writing in a Transfer Portal, but I couldn't think of any reason he'd have one conveniently located in a dungeon. Not to mention there's a small chance Alienora might have a peek in the book, so I don't want to put anything too obviously Deryni-related in the plot._

"Sophie, if you're done, I could use a tiring maid," Constanza called from the adjoining room.

"Yes, my lady! Coming."

#

An hour later, they were sitting together at a table in the Great Hall, listening to the great troubadour Owain ap Gwillim as they enjoyed the evening's feast. Constanza, recognizing the opportunity the event presented for showcasing her young charges to any eligible young lords whose eyes they might happen to catch, had bidden them to dress in something a bit nicer than the casual gowns they'd worn to the library earlier, in honor of this special event the King's chancellor had arranged for the evening. Celsie glanced around the Great Hall, cherishing a hope that perhaps Lord Derry had managed to make it back from Desse early after all, but there was no sign of his familiar brown curls among the small sea of heads surrounding her.

There was, however, a younger man with Border-braided hair of copper-bronze making his way towards their table. When he was standing directly behind Ailidh, he stopped, bowing polite acknowledgement to the young ladies' chaperone before bending to say, just loud enough for his voice to carry over the sounds of lute and Owain's resonant baritone, "I hear you're still a fair shot with a bow." Dhugal grinned as his MacArdry kinswoman nearly jumped, startled by his quiet approach. Sophie, sharing a trencher with her, giggled.

"Aye, an' I'll bluidy well shoot _you_ if ye sneak up on me like that again!" Ailidh retorted, momentarily startled out of the more polished Court accents she'd just started growing accustomed to using over the previous few weeks of acclimating to Rhemuth life. Constanza raised a censuring eyebrow at the girl's epithet, while Celsie stifled a laugh.

Dhugal chuckled. "Well, you clean up prettily enough, anyway, even if you're still a Border lad at heart under all that fine silk."

"Would you like to join us, Your Grace?" Sophie offered.

Dhugal glanced towards the high table, then back at her. "I can't tonight. I just thought I'd come down here and mingle a bit between the feast removes." He clapped Ailidh on the back. "Keep this one in line, will you? We can't have her showing up the Haldane archers. Bad for these lowlanders' egos." He grinned down into Ailidh's eyes, his amusement growing as he noticed her efforts to glare back at him without cracking a smile of her own.

"We'll try," Celsie replied, her blue eyes wide with overly exaggerated sincerity. "But she's a MacArdry, and you _know_ what kind of mischief _that_ rowdy lot can get up to!"

The MacArdry chief laughed as he made his way back to his blood-brother's side.

#

The evening's entertainment drew to an end. Constanza stood. "Well, that was delightful, but I think it's time we retired for the evening."

"Oh, might I make a brief side-trip on the way back up, if I bring Celsie and Ailidh with me?" Sophie asked, her eyes imploring their chaperone to agree. "It won't take long; I just want to see if any of the King's messengers will be heading out towards Nyford on the morrow, so I can go ahead and send my book back to Kestrel Mote."

The Contessa smiled indulgently. "All right, go ahead. But come straight back up afterwards!"

"We will!"

The girls took their leave of their chaperone, making their way through the dispersing crowd towards the small room where messages meant to be sent throughout the Kingdom by way of the Royal Post were gathered.

Celsie and Ailidh lingered near the door of the tiny chamber as Sophie stepped inside. She pulled the small volume from her belt pouch, checking the ties that held it closed to make sure they were secure, then handed it over to a man wearing Haldane livery with instructions on where it should be delivered. He took careful note, wrapping the book to protect it and writing its intended destination upon the wrapping in his neat script before securing the packaging with hot wax and a Royal Post seal, then set the small package aside with a few other parcels and letters heading out in the general direction of Nyford at daybreak. She smiled her thanks at the man and turned to leave. As they started to leave, another man entered, nearly colliding with Sophie. As she stumbled and he reached out instinctively to keep her from falling, something fluttered to the ground between them. Ailidh, noticing the movement, nearly gasped in recognition as she realized what the folded square of parchment was, but before she could intercept it, the man bent swiftly to pick it up, handing it back to Sophie with a courteous bow.

"I do apologize, my lady." He handed her the parchment. "You've dropped your letter, I believe?"

Sophie's eyes widened slightly as she recognized the map. It was all she could do to reach for the folded document calmly instead of snatching it out of the stranger's hand. "Thank you, my lord!" She took the map, this time tucking it securely into her belt pouch rather than into her sleeve.

"I don't believe I've seen you ladies here at Court before. Are you new to Rhemuth?" the young man inquired, his blue-violet eyes alight with interest as he surveyed the three young ladies standing before him in their Court finery.

"Somewhat," Sophie told the stranger, a hint of wariness reflected in her voice. "Pardon us, though, my lord; we told our chaperone we'd rejoin her directly, and no doubt she's wondering what's keeping us." She lowered her eyes.

"Of course." He stepped back to allow the ladies to pass through the narrow entrance. "Have a good evening, then. And welcome to Rhemuth," he added with a smile, pulling a small sheaf of folded letters of his own from under his white belt to hand over to the man in Haldane livery.

Celsie giggled once they were well out of earshot of the Post collecting room. "I ran headlong into Lord Derry this morning, and now _you're_ bumping into men, Sophie. It's Ailidh's turn next."

"I might forget I've sworn off men if I manage to bump into one who looks like _that_," Ailidh joked. "Handsome young knight, black hair, eyes like twilight, nice manners…yum!"

Sophie blushed. "Oh, stop!" She felt her belt pouch, looking concerned. "You don't think he saw the map, do you?"

"Oh, probably not," Celsie reassured her, "and even if he did, so what? It's a map of Rhemuth Castle. We're new here; why _wouldn't_ we want to have a sketch of the layout with us while we're still learning the place?"

Sophie looked somewhat reassured, but added in mind-speech, _One with secret passages marked out in red ink? _

_ He'd hardly know what those bits signify, unless he's Deryni himself, and not just that, but one who happens to know about the passages also, now would he? _Celsie replied. _ It's not like we've marked them all with "Here be secret passages"! And besides, if he _did _see anything, it would've just been the briefest of glimpses. Honestly, you're worrying too much!"_

_ I suppose you're right._

"You know, Sophie, if you think aiming for a Haldane King is reaching a little bit too high, you might consider what it would be like to dandle little black haired, blue-violet eyed babies," Ailidh continued teasing.

Sophie sighed. "No matter what your Duke might think, there is _no_ keeping _you _in line, Ailidh!"

The three girls laughed as they made their way upstairs to their apartment.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Sean Earl Derry approached the City of Rhemuth at a gallop, glad to be almost back at his destination. He was exhausted, worn out by a fatigue that had less to do with sleeplessness than the stress of having recently had a narrow escape, the adrenaline surge that had come with survival of such peril, and the subsequent physical aftermath of such visceral excitement.

The gatehouse was in sight now, and so Derry slowed his mount, gradually allowing the horse to slow his gait to a canter, then a trot. By the time he reached the gate, he'd reached a fairly sedate walk, his horse doubtless grateful for the chance to rest from the journey, although in truth Desse was not all that far from Rhemuth.

The guard on duty recognized the Earl Derry on sight, Derry hardly being a stranger to the Court at Rhemuth after all these years of service to two Haldane Kings. He waved the Earl through. Derry continued on towards the Castle, wending his way through the crowded streets at a steady trot until at last he was in the stable courtyard. He handed his horse over into the care of one of the royal grooms and made his way into the Castle proper, though the Great Hall and into the section of the keep where his apartment lay.

He did not go straight there, however, but stopped a few doors earlier, pausing outside a closed door. The strains of music sounded from within. He paused for a moment, hesitating, then raised a hand to knock at the wooden door.

#

Constanza reclined on one of the bench seats in the window embrasure, smiling at her young charges as they entertained themselves. Ailidh stood by the fireplace playing a slow romantic ballad on her vielle. Sophie sang the melody, her voice a soft alto relating the sad story of the ballad. Celsie's clear soprano supplied a descant to the song. The music died, voices quieting and Ailidh's fingers briefly stilling on the strings and bow, and then she started another tune, this one far more cheerful. Recognizing the song after the introductory measures, Celsie laughed and began singing along, Sophie echoing the refrain after her.

A knock sounded on the door. Constanza stood, waving Sophie back down when the girl noticed and faltered in her singing, and walked over to answer the door herself.

"Lord Derry!" She smiled brightly in surprised greeting, stepping back from the doorway to allow the man entry. Her eyes quickly took in his disheveled appearance and the torn state of his clothing, and her expression darkened. "Oh, sweet Jesú, _caro mio_, what has happened?" she whispered, turning slightly pale.

"A bar fight in Desse," he explained, bending reflexively over her hand to kiss the air over it absently. "Don't worry, Stanzi; I didn't start it, although I very nearly ended it. Or, rather, it very nearly ended _me_." His gaze traveled across the room to the three young ladies who had stopped the music to watch his quiet exchange with the mistress of their household, their eyes curious. "I need to speak with Celsie," he added. Not waiting for permission, he crossed the chamber in a few quick strides, drawing the startled maiden into a quick though quite fierce embrace, dropping a kiss on the top of her golden hair before releasing her. "Thank you," he said fervently.

Celsie gaped up at him, blue eyes huge. "F-for _what_?"

He reached into his doublet, pulling out the folded handkerchief that lay over his heart, directly beneath a large rent in the doublet's fabric. "For this."

She stared at it, dumbfounded at first, and then she looked at him, seeing his exhaustion and his unkempt state with a new understanding. Celsie lifted shaking fingers to her lips and then, hardly daring to breathe, she reached up to touch Derry's face.

"It...it actually _works_?!" Her eyes filled with tears. "Mama told me...it's called a 'Miracle Stitch'...she said if I used it and prayed over every stitch, it could make miracles happen, but I never actually thought...Oh God!" The trembling fingers dropped to the torn fabric over Derry's heart. "You're not hurt, are you?" Her eyes filled with wonder at the solemn shake of his head.

"_I'm _not hurt. I'm afraid some of your hard work has been destroyed, though hopefully not beyond repair."

"But…_you're_ not hurt!" She took a deep, shuddering breath, closing her eyes and whispering a quick prayer of heartfelt thanksgiving before continuing. "Wh-what happened, my lord?"

He led Celsie to a nearby chair, seeing her safely seated before telling his story, for she looked nearly about to faint. "We—that is, Earl Burchard and I—had stopped at a tavern in Desse after we finished our day's business at the horse market. While we were there, a fight broke out. Some sort of local matter, but we were caught up in the fray. I tried to slip out the back, but during the brawl someone tried to cudgel me with a broken bottle. I drew my sword and managed to parry the blow in time, but during that moment of distraction, someone threw a dagger." He shrugged. "Actually, I don't think it was aimed for me; I just chanced to step into its line of flight at just the wrong moment." He glanced down at his torn doublet. "I felt a thump against my chest, but thought nothing of it at the time, thinking whatever had hit me had just glanced off. I never actually saw the dagger come towards me. But Burchard was across the room at the time, and he says he caught sight of me just in time to see the blade go point-first into my doublet, aimed straight at my heart. But then he says it bounced straight back out. He assumed I was wearing mail under my doublet, and that I'd just been lucky that the point of the blade must have hit a link of the chain straight-on instead of piercing through the ring and wedging it far enough open to pierce flesh." Derry looked down at the folded handkerchief, one finger stroking the mangled needlework at the corner. "But I _wasn't _wearing mail, Celsie. I wasn't expecting to end up in the midst of a fight; I thought there was no need for armor. All I had to protect me was the fabric of my doublet and undershirt…and _this_." He handed the handkerchief back to her, closing her shaking fingers around it. "So thank you, Lady Celsie."

She nodded, looking overwhelmed. "Is…is _he_ all right?" she finally managed to whisper.

"Earl Burchard?" Derry nodded. "Yes, for the most part. He took a few bruises and cuts during the fray, but they were shallow. He was wearing a leather jerkin, fortunately, which offered him a bit more protection than mere fabric. I left him nursing his injuries at a monastic infirmary in Desse; he _could've_ managed the ride home, but it would've hurt, and he had no real need to rush back, so he's taking a day or two to allow the worst of the cuts to start healing and make sure they don't grow infected. And, I suspect, to drink enough Fianna to keep quite numb while he heals." He smiled slightly.

"And to think…." She lifted the handkerchief to her lips, holding it there for a long moment, then continued, "at first, I was just going to pray to keep you safe from any of Master Rannigan's men. I thought, if you'd be in danger from anyone, it would be from one of _them_, for coming to my aid in Chervignon. But then I remembered you're a knight and an Earl, and that you might have to ride into battle again someday, so I just prayed a more general prayer for your protection instead." She laughed softly. "And besides, that made for a much shorter prayer. It takes a _long _time to embroider even a small device on a handkerchief, when you constantly have to stop and pray over every stitch!"

Derry, crouched beside Celsie's chair, looked up as Contessa Constanza walked over to join them. "Can it be repaired?" he asked.

"Celsie, dear, may I see the handkerchief?" Constanza asked. Celsie obediently handed it up to her. The Contessa surveyed the damage to the stitching, then closed her eyes and passed a finger over it. She nodded, opening her eyes again, and handed the handkerchief back to Celsie.

"The power's been spent, dear. There's a little residual power remaining in it, of course—do you feel that slight tingle?—but most was released when the spell bore the brunt of the attack, and what might have remained was probably lost when the stitches gave way. But it lasted long enough to do the job it was meant to do, and that's the important thing." She sighed. "Where _did_ you learn cording lore, sweeting?"

"Is _that_ what it is?" Celsie looked up at her, confused. "My mother's mother was a master silk-worker; I just assumed it was a tradition from that trade."

Constanza shook her head. "I very much doubt that it is in general, "she said, "although I've no doubt it became one in your own family's practice. Perhaps that's how she ended up a silk-worker in the first place. There's more than one Gwyneddan landed family who had to go into hiding and learn a trade in order to survive once their lands were taken away for the capital crime of being Deryni. For that matter, even your own Haldane Kings spring from the loins of one who barely survived a coup, and who had to make a living as a draper before his heirs could resume their rightful place on Gwynedd's throne." She shrugged. "One does what one must to survive in harsh times."

"Is it really Deryni magic, then?" Celsie asked.

"It is. Or possibly even an older sort of magic, one which might actually predate the Deryni. I know very little about cording lore, my dear, and most of what I know is restricted to creating illusory effects in woven goods, very minor magic. But if you will show me sometime how you work _this_ sort of cording spell, I believe in turn that I can show you what you should know in order to have better control over what you're doing."

"Just be sure you pass that knowledge on, whatever you do," Derry said, rising to his feet. "I'm off to bed, ladies. It's been an eventful day, and I'm yearning for a warm bed and a long sleep." He sketched a bow towards Constanza and Celsie, then turned to give the other two ladies-in-waiting a weary parting smile as well. "Good night, lovelies." He saw himself out of their apartment and back to his own.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"What _I _don't understand is, how did you manage to work a spell of protection without even knowing you were doing magic? Didn't you feel the tingle?"

Celsie snorted at Sophie's question. "_You_ try embroidering ridiculously tiny stitches for hours at a time sometime and see if _your_ fingers don't tingle, even if you're _not_ working prayers into each stitch!" She lowered her head to her work again, her needle's point taking another tiny bite of the soft cambric she was stitching.

"So, what have you started on now?"

Celsie's eyes lit up with mischief as she handed the rectangle of fabric to her friend. Sophie passed a hand lightly over it. Her eyes widened as she looked back up at Celsie, startled, then she laughed.

"I _hope_ you're saving that for your trousseau!"

The angelic-looking damsel smiled demurely. "Oh yes. Once I'm done with it, it won't come out of my hope chest until my wedding night." She dimpled. "But I'm sure it will be a most memorable wedding night!"

Ailidh looked up from her mending at that. "Most wedding nights are memorable even without magical assistance, I'd think. Maybe I should have a look at what you're working? Just to…ah…make sure you're not doing something you might regret later? Has the Contessa had a look at that?" she added, tilting her head at Celsie's newest project.

Celsie blushed. "Well…no."

"Oh God….at least let _me_ have a look, then!" Ailidh stood, crossing over to where Celsie sat, and laid her fingertips over the work, focusing intently. After a moment, she burst into laughter.

"Celsie, no. Just trust me on this…._No_!"

"What?" Celsie's big blue eyes looked confused. Sophie started to giggle. She took her friend's hand.

"Sweeting, what I think Ailidh's trying to say is that, when you get married, presumably your husband is going to want you anyway. He's not going to need convincing! And even if, for some reason, he _does_…um…this is a fairly large design you've sketched out, right?"

"Yes." Celsie looked up at Sophie questioningly.

"And there's going to be a prayer in _every_ stitch?"

She nodded.

"And don't you ever want to be let out of bed again? Mayhap to eat, or go to the garderobe? Or even to be able to _walk_ after your wedding night?"

Celsie's mouth dropped open, then slowly shut as she considered what Sophie was saying. "Oh!"

Sophie mimicked the Rhemuth gossip network. "'A pity about poor Earl Derry, dead on his wedding night. What happened, do you know?' 'Rumor has it he had heart failure, but he died _very_ happy!'"

Ailidh chortled and handed Celsie a small knife to cut the stitches out.

#

Later in the morning, the Contessa announced her intention to go out riding with Duchess Meraude and a few of the other Court Ladies, inviting her young charges to accompany her. Ailidh and Celsie eagerly accepted the offer, but Sophie demurred. "I'd really prefer to visit the Library again, if you wouldn't mind."

Constanza looked surprised. "Are you certain? We've been blessed with quite warm days for the season in the past few days, but it might not be quite so warm again for another few weeks."

"I'm sure, my lady." Sophie flushed slightly. "There was a History of Rhemuth I got a bit caught up in last time we were there, and I was sort of hoping I could finish it."

"Oh! Well, I suppose that would be all right, if you'd really rather just read about Rhemuth rather than actually _seeing_ Rhemuth," the Contessa teased.

Sophie laughed. "I live here now, remember? I'm sure I'll have other opportunities to see it."

"I don't believe we're planning to stay out for very long—a couple of hours at most—so I suppose you can spend that time reading and then just meet with us back in Meraude's solar afterwards."

_Looking for more old maps? _Ailidh mind-spoke to Sophie on her way out.

_No, not unless I happen to run across one in the book. I really _do_ want to finish it. Besides, some of the stories in it have given me ideas for my story-game with Stefan. _She smiled. _But if I find something that could be useful for our mapping purposes, of course I'll let you know!_

#

When Sophie returned to the Library, however, things were not arranged as they'd been on her last visit. A small cart sat just inside the Library door, and as Sophie watched, mystified, two priests with her back to her were pulling stacks of books off a row of shelves and stacking them up neatly on a nearby table.

"Pardon me," she finally asked, drawing their attention. The younger priest, a man not so many years older than Sophie with curly dark hair, smiled.

"Oh, hello, Lady Sophie! I'm afraid you've caught us on a bad day. We're in the process of temporarily moving part of our collection so we can do some construction work in here."

The other man turned. With a start, Sophie realized it was Bishop Duncan.

"Oh! Well...Will Llywellyn ap Twddwr's 'History of Rhemuth' be staying?" she asked hopefully.

The young priest laughed. "I thought you seemed particular engrossed in that one! Yes, that one will stay. I've set it aside in case you wanted to finish it. Look on my desk." He tilted his head to indicate where she should look, as his hands were full. "But I'm afraid we're going to be bustling around here for the next hour or two, so the Library might not be very quiet."

Sophie looked at the stacked books beside him with interest. "Can I help you, then? If you're just trying to clear off that wall, the work would go faster with more hands."

The priest, looking uncertain, started to decline the offer, but then the bishop, with a slight smile, said, "Actually, John, I think we can trust Lady Sophie with _that_ much, at least."

Sophie was startled that the bishop even recalled her name; she'd only actually encountered him that one evening—not counting that briefest of mental touches at the Ash Wednesday Mass the previous winter, of course—when she and the rest of the Contessa's household had dined with the Duke and Duchess of Corwyn, and Bishop Duncan had been seated on the other end of the table. Bafflement was the next emotion to sweep through her. Why would they need someone trustworthy just to move books? And how could he possibly know she could be trusted with anything, given how little he knew her?

Duncan's smile widened as he watched the play of emotions on Sophie's face. "Would you close the door, Lady Sophie? And if it's not too heavy for you to push, we could use the cart now. I'll explain in a moment."

Sophie did as she was bid, closing the door firmly, then turned her attention to the cart. It was a little heavy, but the wheels were well greased, so she was able to push it the small distance across the room with very little effort.

"Thank you," the bishop said when she reached him, beginning to load stacks of books onto the cart. After a moment, she joined him, picking up a stack and looking up at him uncertainly. "Do these need to go on in any certain order?"

"Not really. Just try to keep them in the stacks they're in now, and they'll be easier for us to sort out later, but aside from that, it doesn't matter how you load them into the cart." His blue eyes swept her form briefly. "Some of these older volumes may be a bit dusty, I'm afraid, so this might not be the cleanest work. Do you mind, or would you prefer to change into something else first?"

"Oh, this is fine." Sophie picked up a stack of books, glancing at the titles curiously. The pile she held seemed to contain various Lives of the Saints. She placed it on the cart, still somewhat mystified.

Duncan chuckled, handing her a book from the top of another stack. She reached for it, her eyes widening before she even noted the title on the cover. It..._felt _different, somehow!

She looked down at the volume she held. _Codex Orini_. She'd never heard of it before, but somehow she knew just from how it felt in her hands that this was the sort of book that contained the knowledge of her Deryni heritage she'd always longed to know. The sort of book she'd never see on the shelves of Kestrel Mote, while her father still lived, at least. And certainly not as long as Alienora lived there!

Her eyes flew up to meet the Bishop's, the pupils in their green-gold depths widening. "Oh!" She looked at the younger priest in confusion, even more startled to see that he was smiling. "You...don't _mind_ Deryni?" she almost squeaked.

Father John Nivard chuckled. "No. I don't mind Deryni at all." He shot Duncan a teasing look and then added, "Unless, of course, they're my direct superiors, in which case I'm _required_ to mind them." Duncan laughed.

"Of course," Duncan reminded her gently, "there are still many people who _do_ mind Deryni, which is why we don't want just anyone knowing these books are here. Or, for that matter, that they're about to be moved a short distance for the time being." He added with a wry smile, "We want them preserved, not burned."

She stroked the cover of the book she held. "Do you think...Could I..."

"Could you read that book you're holding?" Duncan supplied. "Maybe, but only once you're a lot further along in your training. There's some dangerous knowledge in Orin's work; it's hardly a beginner's primer." He took the volume back, adding it back to the stack it came from, then putting that stack into the cart. "Contessa Constanza could recommend some more suitable books for study, though, if you're interested."

Sophie bent to take a closer look at some of the other stacks before her. Some were completely innocuous titles; others were clearly of a more arcane bent. "How did I not notice these the last time I was here? I know I looked on this shelf."

Father Nivard smiled. "Yes, and you're Deryni, so you at least had the chance to spot them, but were you specifically _looking_ for books about the Deryni or Deryni magic?"

"Well...no." She grinned. "So they're hidden in plain sight?"

Nivard grinned back. "Yes."

Sophie giggled. "That's a handy trick! I wish I knew that one."

Duncan grinned. "Oh, I'm sure you do. There are so many _handy_ ways to misapply it." His eyes shone teasingly down at her.

"Oh, I would _never_-! Well...all right, maybe I might." She laughed. Her fingers trailed down the spines of another stack of books. "Ballads...epic poetry...love songs?" She picked the top book off the stack, starting to flip through it.

Duncan gently took it from her, examining the cover. He chuckled, placing it in the cart. "Not al-Sadr's poetry _quite_ yet, my lady. Come back for that one the week before you're to wed, though; your future husband will have cause to thank you for your studies." He glanced at Father Nivard when the younger man stifled a laugh behind a well-timed cough. He placed another book in her hands instead. "Here are some ballads better suited for a maiden."

"Thank you," Sophie said, her cheeks turning a little pink as she flipped through the book she was offered. "Wait...I recognize some of these!" she exclaimed, her embarrassment fading as her eyes skimmed a few pages. "That troubadour who was here a couple of nights ago sang some of these ballads! But...they're not Deryni ballads, are they?"

Father Nivard smiled. "No. Not if you mean ballads _about _Deryni. There are only a small number of songs in that book that are actually about Deryni. But they were all written _by _a Deryni, so in _that_ sense, they're 'Deryni ballads.'"

Sophie took a look around the room, her eyes growing wistful. "Oh my. I could just _live_ here! There's so much to learn, I don't even know where to start, or how to fit it all in." She sighed. "My father's not much of a reader, nor was his father before him. All the books in Kestrel Mote's library would fit on just one of these shelves, and I've read them all at least twice." She looked back at Duncan. "You have to be a special kind of desperate to read 'How to Prevent Dry Rot' twice."

#

The three worked companionably together over the next hour, Bishop Duncan and Father Nivard occasionally recommending one title or another to Sophie, who had started jotting down a growing list. "What are you going to be building in here?" she asked them at one point. Their answer—a garderobe—only raised more questions than it answered. Why someone would go through all the trouble to retrofit a garderobe into a castle structure centuries after it was built, she had no idea, although she supposed having one so close by would make visits to the Royal Library more convenient in future.

At last, glancing out the window and noticing where the sun was in the sky, Sophie sighed, brushing some dust off her gown, and looked at the two men apologetically. "I'm afraid I probably should head upstairs to Duchess Meraude's solar. The Contessa's probably on her way back there now, if she's not back already, and she'll be expecting me."

"That's fine. Thank you for your help today," Duncan said. "John, would you excuse me for a short while? I'll see Lady Sophie safely up."

"Oh, you needn't!" she said, a bit flustered at the thought of interrupting the two men's work, but Father Nivard just smiled.

"It's no trouble, Lady Sophie. I'm sure the Bishop will be glad to get away from the smell of old books for a while."

Duncan laughed. "I like the smell of old books; it's the dust that annoys me. Just tell me you'll keep the stacks better tended than the former librarian did!"

Father Nivard grinned. "Oh, I might know a trick or two for repelling dust."

#

Bishop Duncan took Sophie back towards the Royal Apartments by a back way. It was not one of the secret passages—more likely it was one of the servants' corridors, Sophie surmised—but still, it was useful knowledge, so Sophie filed the new information away diligently.

"How are you settling into Rhemuth life?" he asked, once they were out of earshot from everyone. "And are you enjoying your studies with Contessa Constanza?"

"Oh yes, quite! And I love it here," Sophie answered, though her eyes grew a bit shadowed at her next thought. "I just wish..." She looked up at Duncan. "Father has no idea that Constanza is Deryni, I don't think. If he _does_, I don't think he realizes that she's training me. That was my mother's idea, apparently." Sadness flickered across her features. "I don't want to lie to him—and I _won't,_ if he asks me outright—but on the other hand, I don't want to not be who I really am anymore, if that makes any sense."

"It does," Duncan said, his voice sympathetic.

She glanced at him briefly, then looked away, blushing slightly. "I was very worried about you when you didn't show up for Masses after Ash Wednesday! I prayed a lot, hoping you were safe."

"_Did_ you?" He smiled at her, touched.

"Yes. I was afraid maybe the other bishops would decide you couldn't be a bishop anymore, or perhaps not even a priest!"

Duncan nodded. "Yes, there was that danger. For a while, I wasn't so sure either."

"Well...I'm glad everything turned out all right for you!"

He smiled. "Thank you. So am I."

They came out of the servants' corridor in the wing that housed the Royal Apartments. Duncan spotted a white belted figure nearby standing guard near one of the other entrances, and beckoned him over.

"You've a message from my uncle, my lord Bishop?" the young knight said, looking curiously at Duncan and his companion as he approached. With a start, Sophie recognized the man as the same one she'd briefly encountered two nights earlier in the mail-sorting room.

"I'm afraid not today," Duncan replied, before turning to Sophie. "Lady Sophie, this is Sir Seisyll Arilan. Seisyll, allow me to present Lady Sophie de Varnay." Formal introductions properly tendered, Duncan added, "Lady Sophie is heading to Duchess Meraude's quarters. Would you be so kind as to escort her the rest of the way?"

"Right gladly, my lord." Blue-violet eyes smiled down at Sophie as the dark-haired knight offered her his arm. "This way, my lady."

Duncan smiled in quiet satisfaction as he made his way back to the Royal Library where Father Nivard awaited him.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Ailidh nic Ardry, dressed in something a bit more appropriate for wandering outside the Castle walls than trews, though not much more so, was staring up into the branches of a large oak, wondering if she could manage the climb up or if the quarry she sought could be shot down.

She heard a sigh behind her. "Don't even _think_ of climbing that tree in skirts, even if you _have_ hitched the hem up to resemble breeches. Sweet Jesú, if it weren't for all that red hair, you'd look like one of those exotic harem ladies from one of the far Eastern kingdoms in that get-up. What is it you're wanting again?"

"Oh, there you are!" Ailidh turned to look up at her clan chief. He dismounted, giving his horse an affectionate pat on the neck before leading it over to where Ailidh stood peering up at the tree. She pointed up at a sizeable clump of mistletoe overhead.

"That," she informed him. "Do you think there's any chance of just shooting it down, or will we need to climb up for it?"

Dhugal gazed up at the clump of mistletoe she indicated. "You're sure you'll need _that_ much?"

"Yes, we'll need that much," she said, sounding exasperated. "We've got a lot of decorating to do!"

The Border Duke started laughing. "Ailidh, that's pretty high up. You _do_ realize that's a lot larger than it looks like it is from down here on the ground?"

"Yes, I know."

Dhugal reined in his laughter, although he couldn't hold back a slight smirk. "All right. If every lady in Rhemuth _wants_ to be caught under the mistletoe without having to move more than three feet in any direction to find any, who am_ I _to argue? Christmas is the season of giving, right?"

"It's not_ that _large, Dhugal!"

"Ailidh _a chara_, how can I put this delicately? Oh wait, I can't." The amber eyes danced with mirth. "That's no mere kissing sprig you've discovered there; that's an entire orgy bush! All right, I'll send the lads up for it, then. But we'll need a wagon."

"A _wagon_?"

"Aye, so the happy hunters can bring home their kill."

Ailidh rolled her eyes, barely suppressing the urge to smack her clan chief.

#

"Don't say it."

"Don't say what, 'I told you so?' I wouldn't dream of it." Dhugal fought back a grin as the six squires he'd brought with him lugged the last of the six large baskets of mistletoe into the Contessa's apartment. "That enough mistletoe for in here?" He looked around the ladies' small apartment, his lips beginning to twitch again. "If you've any left over, you might want to lend a hand to decorations elsewhere. Say, the Great Hall?"

Sophie emerged from the bedchamber, saw the baskets of greenery. Her mouth dropped open.

Ailidh held up a hand, warning fire in her eyes. "All right," she said, "I realize it looks a little excessive..."

Celsie, peeking through the doorway, began to giggle. "Um, Ailidh? When we said we needed a fair bit, we really weren't looking to get a whole lifetime's worth!"

#

"And so there we were, baskets everywhere, six squires we've never even _met_ before standing there looking hopeful..." Sophie giggled as she dusted off a book and set it to one side. "I have _no _clue what Ailidh was thinking!"

Father Nivard laughed as he pictured the scene. Bishop Duncan chuckled. "So, did they get rewarded for their efforts in the way they were hoping?"

"No!" Sophie, cheeks turning pink, gave a startled laugh at the bishop, who grinned.

"What did you end up doing with the excess?"

"Well, some of it ended up going to Duchess Richenda, and a bit more went to Duchess Meraude, and..." She giggled again. "I think you'll find the Great Hall might look a bit more festive than usual this season."

"Oh, I can hardly wait to see it. Think the number of post-Christmas Revel confessions is going to rise this year, John?"

The younger priest choked back a laugh. "It might."

#

By the time Father Nivard escorted Sophie back up to her quarters, the small apartment was mostly set to rights again. The sitting room was festively adorned with a bit more greenery than was standard for holiday décor, but on the whole, the effect was rather lovely, and not nearly as overdone as Sophie had feared it might be, given the condition the room had still been in when she left it earlier in the day.

All the same, John Nivard lingered at the threshold. "I believe I'll leave you here, Lady Sophie," he teased, green eyes laughing. "My reputation could be irreparably damaged if I venture into that forest."

She laughed. "Heaven forfend!" She clasped a book to her chest, grateful for the rare privilege of being allowed to borrow one, however briefly, from the Royal Collection."

"Thank you for all your help," the priest said.

"I was very glad to assist. If you'll let me know when the books are ready to put back, I'll be glad to help with that as well."

Father Nivard looked thoughtful, as if not certain how to answer. "They'll not all be returning to the same place," he said finally, "but I'll let you know when we're ready to reshelve the books that will be going back."

"Oh? Will the rest be remaining in the Bishop's study?"

Nivard shrugged. "Some might. I believe the King has other plans for a select few." He bowed. "Good day, Lady Sophie."

#

"Been hanging out with priests again, have you?" Ailidh teased Sophie as she entered their shared bedchamber. The Border lass was arranging a garland of greenery into Celsie's golden hair. "You'll never find a husband in Rhemuth _that _way!"

Sophie simply smiled, stretching out on her bed and closing her eyes briefly. "Have you ever considered maybe that's _why _I enjoy helping them out, because I _don't_ have to worry about anyone pushing me at them, or them at me? And besides, of course, there's all of those books, glorious books!" She sighed contentedly. "Bishop Duncan said I can borrow ap Twddwr's _History of Rhemuth_ until I've had time to finish it, since I've been too busy working to read it while I'm downstairs."

"You don't _want_ to marry?" Celsie asked, looking curious and a little shocked.

"No, I _do_ want to marry, someday," Sophie said, opening her eyes and turning onto her side to watch Celsie and Ailidh. "I just hate feeling pushed into it. Sometimes it's nice just being around men without having to wonder or worry that they might be thinking about me _that_ way. I suppose it might be different once I'm actually in love, but sometimes I catch one looking at me, and I swear they look like they're thinking, 'I wonder how many pups _that_ one can pump out before she pops?'"

Celsie and Ailidh both laughed. "I certainly hope that's not what they're thinking!" Celsie said. "I can't blame you for being skittish, though, if that's what you truly think of them."

Sophie sighed. "Oh, I don't, not really. It just _feels_ that way, sometimes."

The Contessa swept into the room. "Well, _that's_ done! Ailidh, Meraude thanks you for the donation of greenery, and says it shall make a nice addition to the holly and ivy her ladies have already gathered. And tonight, I've planned a special treat for you."

Three sets of eyes brightened. "A treat?" Celsie ventured.

Constanza smiled. "Yes. Since we'll be having Christmas Revels after the Christmas Court and Feast, you'll need to know all the current Court dances. So I've arranged for a dancing master to join us tonight after we dine. He'll be coming by every evening this week, so you needn't worry about learning all the steps in one night. By the night of the Revel, you should be quite well practiced."

Sophie looked slightly nervous, but resigned. Ailidh mindspoke, _Don't worry; dancing's easy enough. The dances are a different in Rhemuth than in Transha or Marlor, but some of the basic steps are the same. If you learn the basic steps, you can learn most dances easily enough._

_ Oh, I'm not worried about _that_. Stefan's taught me the most popular dances._

_ Then what is it? _Ailidh asked.

_I just...don't think I'd feel really comfortable dancing with a lot of men I don't know. _Sophie sighed._ I suppose I'll just have to get used to it._

_Oh, it'll be fun! Don't worry, it's not like you'll be forced to marry them all! Just learn to live a little!_

"I can hardly wait!" Celsie enthused. "I've never actually danced before."

"You've never _danced _before?" Ailidh looked shocked. "What did you do in Chervignon for entertainment?"

Celsie's joy dimmed slightly. "Survived." She grimaced.

"Oh." Ailidh looked nonplussed. "Well...you'll _love_ dancing. If you want to learn the basic steps before the dancing master even gets here, Sophie and I can teach you."

"Yes," Sophie agreed. 'They're easy enough. We'll have you knowing the dances in no time."

Celsie lit up again, already dreaming of dancing with a certain young Earl under the mistletoe.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Now, this pavane will start out with a left single, a right single, and then a double. Please remember, in most of Gwynedd aside from some of the borderlands, dances usually start out on the left foot."

"Which means you lowlanders are all backwards in your footwork, if you ask me, so why you make such a fuss about corrie-fistedness, I have _no_ clue," Ailidh grumbled good-naturedly, though she followed the dancing master's instructions flawlessly.

"Oh, don't worry," the instructor said, "You'll find the Court of Rhemuth has adopted a few of the better known Border dances in the past few years, and you'll already have the advantage over other dancers in those, since you'll be used to starting out on the 'wrong' foot. Many of the dances in Torenth also start out with a right single or double, though Rhemuth hasn't adopted many Torenthi dances, not surprisingly given past relations between the kingdoms. Perhaps their young King will eventually introduce our styles of dancing to his Court when he returns there someday. Who knows?" He walked around Ailidh and Sophie, partnered together for this particular pavane as the steps for male and female partners were identical for it, and then resumed his place in front of them at Celsie's side. "All right, let's repeat that pattern. Left single—don't forget the bob at the end of it! Now right single...bob...left double...2...3...Turn and face your partner, and clasp hands. Good! Now we'll take a sidestep with the right foot towards the head of the hall...now towards the back of the hall...very good, now drop your partner's hand, resume your original position facing the front of the hall, and it's a double step back."

The girls all followed the dancing master's lead, finding themselves in their original positions at the end of it. "Very good! Now we repeat that set twice, and at the end of the second repeat, there's a new pattern to learn. But it's all built out of those two simple steps, and it's a slow dance, so you should know it perfectly by the end of half an hour. So, let's try the first part of the dance again, but this time let's do it to the music." He gave a nod to the lutenist and the vielle player he'd brought with him, and they started counting time, then at his second nod launched into the opening notes of the slow pavane.

The lesson went well, and by the end of the evening, all three young ladies were quite comfortable with the Earl of Rhendall's Pavane, and had been introduced to two other pavanes, a galliard, and a bransle that their dance-master assured them were all on the official schedule for the Christmas Revels.

#

The hours not filled by dance lessons were swiftly filled by other pursuits. There were new gowns to be fitted, small gifts to be made (often in secret, as the girls found pretexts to steal away for an hour or two at a time in order to create them, a liberty the Contessa turned an indulgent blind eye towards), visits to and from important persons newly arrived for Christmas Court in order to acquaint the new ladies-in-waiting with members of the Gwyneddan peerage they ought to become at least somewhat familiar with, and of course their daily lessons both in Court etiquette and the arcane, for Constanza would not allow them to neglect their training simply because it was nearly Christmas. The busy schedule allowed for little leisure time, yet Sophie still managed to slip away for an hour one afternoon to seek the quiet comforts of the Royal Library.

"I received a letter from my family today," she told Father Nivard. "They'll be arriving here just in time for Christmas Court and staying until after Twelfth Night."

"Oh?" He smiled, looking up from the book cover he was mending. "That's good news, I hope."

"Well…mostly." Sophie slightly worried expression belied her words. "It's just…I'm not sure what they'll be expecting when they get here." She sighed. "I've only been in Rhemuth a few months, so hopefully Father isn't expecting for me to have done much more than just settle in and learn a bit about Court life."

The priest nodded, looking away briefly to dab a tiny bit of glue onto a torn leather flap on the book spine he held. "Your father's after you to find a good match?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, though at least he's realistic about it. My stepmother thinks I should be angling for a Haldane."

Nivard chuckled. "I'm afraid you'd have stiff competition there."

"Oh, believe me, I know. Not to mention I'm not the least bit suited to be Queen of Gwynedd. I'm sure there's more to the job than simply producing a prince a year."

The priest smiled. "Ideally." He set the book aside, picking another damaged volume from the stack beside him. "And what would Sophie de Varnay like?"

"Oh, what, I actually get to state a preference?" She snorted.

Nivard raised an eyebrow at her. "Hopefully. Do you truly feel you'll have no choice in the matter?"

She sighed. "Well, I suppose I'll have _some_ choice. It's just….Have you ever felt like you were being pushed into something you just weren't ready for yet?" She eyed the young priest's cassock, a sudden thought occurring to her. "Did you always want to be a priest, or was that your family's idea?"

He smiled. "I don't know about _always,_ but yes, it was my choice. Though as a third son, there was little chance I'd end up inheriting land, and my talents have always been more scholarly than martial, so I suppose it was taken as somewhat of a given I'd end up choosing the priesthood. No family pressure, exactly, just…." He laughed. "I'm not sure the question of me doing something else with my life ever actually came up."

"But you're happy with your choice?"

"Quite."

"See, _that's_ what I want. The freedom to figure out on my own, in my own time, what choice would make me happy. And the freedom to be myself." She smiled sadly. "The freedom to be Deryni, and not have to hide it from everyone."

"That's not so much to ask." The priest's green eyes smiled at her compassionately over the book he was rebinding. "Have you spoken to your father about what you're feeling?"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Oh, I've tried. He just pats my head and tells me not to be nervous, that all girls my age feel this way, but once I'm wed I'll see everything's turned out all right. True enough, I suppose—if I don't end up saddled with a wife-beater, or some codger old enough to be my grandfather, or some lout who only wants a brood-mare while he's collecting playthings on the side." She blushed, realizing belatedly she was confiding in a priest. "I'm sorry."

Nivard tilted his head at her. "What for?"

"That was a bit…indelicate."

He shook his head. "I've only been a priest for a few years, but I've already heard enough about life's darker side in the confessional, you'd have to work much harder than that to shock me. You're simply stating the harsh realities that exist in some marriages. There's hardly any need to apologize for that." He chuckled. "And I _am_ aware of both the basics of human reproduction and the baser aspects of human nature, so no need to shy away from those topics either."

"But _I'm_ not supposed to be," the young lady-in-waiting muttered. "I'm not supposed to worry my 'pretty little head' over such things."

"Are you not? Certainly a maiden should be innocent, but at your age, I would expect total ignorance to be just as dangerous a thing for a young woman as it is for a young man. There is a difference between mere lack of experience and willful naiveté, you know. You _should_ go into a potential match with your eyes wide open. It's a life-changing decision." He studied Sophie a long moment. "I don't suppose you've felt any calling towards a religious vocation?"

She chuckled. "No. That would be simpler to explain to my father, I think. He might actually be relieved; if I were a nun, there'd be no danger of me bearing Deryni children." She glanced at him, adding hastily, "Not that _I_ have any problem with having Deryni children, but my father's so intent of keeping our bloodline a secret, he's hidden himself behind a wife who's a de Nore!"

"Hm." His green eyes crinkled with sudden mirth. "You could bring Bishop Duncan's son back to Kestrel Mote for consideration as a son-in-law. Shall I arrange an introduction?"

Sophie laughed. "_You're_ no help!"

"No? Ah, well, Duke Dhugal's loss."

#

Duke Dhugal, at that moment, was wandering through the Great Hall with his blood brother, trying to cajole him from the ill mood brought on by one too many Council meetings over the previous week. "It certainly looks like Duchess Meraude and her ladies have been working hard to get the Hall ready for Christmas Revel," he said, pointing out the latest additions to the Great Hall's décor.

Kelson looked up, his eyes taking in all the greenery which had appeared seemingly overnight. "Sweet Jesú, did a forest explode in here?"

"Oh, it's far worse than that, Sire. Ailidh nic Ardry happened." He swept an arm to point out the clumps of mistletoe tied with bright sprigs of red ribbon and scattered over all the window niches and above the center of the Hall, shaking his head in pretended sadness. "Any squire or eligible knight who can't get himself kissed on Christmas Night just isn't trying hard enough."

Kelson's lips twitched despite his dour mood. "Thank you for pointing this out. Now I'll know the areas to avoid."

"Aye. I'm your loyal man, Kel. You have only to command it, and I'll have my MacArdrys at every station, ready to intercept those feminine advances so you won't have to."

The gray eyes slanted to meet amber ones, a reluctant twinkle beginning to form. "Such noble sacrifice, Dhugal! I'm truly touched."

"Anything to protect the consecrated Haldane lips from such ignoble assaults."

A laugh finally broke free as Kelson Haldane succumbed to his sense of the ridiculous.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"Have you seen them yet?" Sophie peered anxiously around the Great Hall on Christmas Eve. The girls had all gone to early Mass that day, figuring that would leave the rest of the day free to greet Sophie's family when they arrived and assist them in getting settled into their rooms for their two week stay, but now the evening meal was over and they had still not made their appearance.

"Not yet," the Contessa said, frowning slightly. "But you know, _mi cara,_ there was another inch of snowfall this morning, and it's possible that conditions were worse between here and Nyford. Your family got such a late start in setting forth for Rhemuth, it's quite possible they ended up delayed by the weather."

"You're probably right." Sophie sighed. "Still, it's not like Father at all to miss Christmas Court. I'll feel much better when they arrive. Do you think they'll try to push through, or wait until morning?"

Constanza shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know Sir Ranulf enough to know what he'd decide to do. But I'm certain he'll send a message ahead, if nothing else. In the meantime, worrying about them isn't going to help matters. Just try to relax; I'll be sure to let you know the moment I hear something."

"A message...That's it! I'm going to check the message room." Sophie jumped up from her bench. "If they arrive while I'm there, can you come get me? Father should be wearing gules and sable..."

"_'Per pale gules and sable, three kestrels or, and in chief or, crusilly sable'_. Yes, we know." Celsie patted her hand reassuringly. "We'll keep an eye out for them. Go!"

#

The message room was nearly empty, but Sophie spied a familiar face as soon as she entered the small chamber. The bent head looked up from a packet of letters. Upon recognizing her, the knight bowed, smiling.

"Lady Sophie, we've got to stop meeting like this," Sir Seisyll Arilan teased.

"How may I help you, my lady?" the older retainer in Haldane livery asked, after sparing a brief chuckle for the young knight's jest.

Sophie remained in the doorway, almost too frightened to ask, but at last she summoned up the nerve to make her inquiry. "I was expecting my family to arrive today, my lord, but they've not arrived yet. Have you any messages for me from Sir Ranulf de Varnay?"

"No, my lady, I don't believe I have, but hold on a moment and I'll check."

All traces of humor disappeared from Sir Seisyll's eyes as he studied Sophie's worried face. "What time of day were you expecting them, Lady Sophie?"

"I'm...not really sure. Father's last message said they'd be here in time for Christmas Court, though, so I was sure they'd be arriving sometime today at the very latest."

He nodded. "Your father is Carthane's liege man, is he not?"

"Yes, my lord." Sophie was surprised; despite her father's long years of service to the Kingdom, she didn't think he was so well-known in Rhemuth that another knight, especially a much younger one, would immediately place him as the Earl of Carthane's man.

"Might they be traveling together? I believe Carthane sent a message ahead a few hours ago, saying his party was delayed by the snows and would be stopping for the night a few miles south of here. They planned to travel the rest of the way at daybreak."

"Oh." Sophie considered. "I suppose they _could_ be traveling together; the Earl's seat is near Nyford after all, so they'd be coming from the same direction." She bit her lip. "I just wish I knew for certain."

"I imagine so, my lady." He studied her a long moment. "Is your chaperone still in the Great Hall?" he finally inquired.

"Yes, I believe so. She was going to wait there in case they showed up." She looked suddenly wary. "Why?"

The knight gave her a reassuring smile. "Because I think, if your family is close by and still trying to get to Rhemuth tonight, we might be able to see their party's arrival from the top of one of the watch towers, even if they're still at a bit of a distance. But of course, I would need to make myself known to your guardian first, and secure her permission to bring you up there." He bowed over her hand. "And yours too, of course. Would you permit me to assist you?"

Sophie studied him cautiously, then remembered that Bishop Duncan had entrusted her to this knight's keeping when the bishop had escorted her upstairs to the Royal Apartments. She knew the bishop would hardly have done so if the young man weren't to be trusted. "I suppose so," she finally answered, "if the Contessa agrees."

They entered the Great Hall together, Sophie feeling a bit self-conscious. As they approached, the Contessa stood, studying the pair curiously.

About to make the necessary introductions, Sophie suddenly froze as she realized she had forgotten the young knight's surname. Fortunately she was spared any embarrassment when he took matters into his own hands, bowing over the Contessa's offered hand and introducing himself. "Sir Seisyll Arilan, Laird of Tre-Arilan, at your service, madam. I understand Lady de Varnay's family hasn't arrived yet. Would you permit me to bring her up to the watch tower, my Lady?" He smiled at the very curious young ladies flanking the Contessa. "And, of course, her friends."

Constanza gave the young man an appraising look. "Arilan. Are you related to Bishop Denis Arilan?"

"His nephew, my Lady."

"Ah." She smiled. "Well, I suppose that would be all right. Celsie, why don't you accompany Sophie; Ailidh, you remain here with me in case Sophie's family arrives, so you can fetch her back if necessary."

_Not fair!_ Ailidh mindspoke to Celsie.

_I thought you've sworn off men?_ Celsie replied, smiling to herself.

_I can still _look_!_ Ailidh retorted.

Celsie suppressed a giggle as she followed Sophie and Sir Seisyll out of the Great Hall.

#

They stopped at the ladies' apartment just long enough for the two ladies-in-waiting to grab warm cloaks, for Sir Seisyll warned them that the top of the watch tower would be quite cold now that the sun had set and the winter winds blew briskly overhead. Once they were bundled against the winter's chill, the knight led them up to the top of the tower that would afford them the best vantage point of the lands southeast of Rhemuth, the direction from which the de Varnay household would likely be approaching, for it was almost certain they would be traveling northwards from Desse.

"Will Sir Ranulf be traveling under his colors, do you know?" the knight asked.

"Probably. Not that we'll be able to tell in the dark," Sophie said, fretting.

"True. But look, there's a full moon tonight, and with the moon reflecting off the snow and the rivers, we should at least be able to spot signs of movement on the road, if they're not too far out." They gazed out at the view below, noting a few parties here and there on the surrounding roads making their slow way towards the gates of Rhemuth, but the groups were too distant for Sophie to be able to make out if any might be her family's party. She shivered a bit as the breeze picked up, the thin wool of her cloak being insufficient to keep out the full force of the draft. Sir Seisyll, noticing both girls' discomfort, moved up to stand directly behind them, opening up his own cloak to enfold them both. "Better?"

"Yes, my lord," Celsie added with a sidelong look at Sophie and a quiet giggle.

"Um….Thank you." Sophie blushed, suddenly a little too warm despite having felt nearly frozen just a few seconds earlier. She reached a hand up absently to tug a fold of the knight's cloak away from her body.

His gaze dropped to her exposed fingers. An arm tightened around Sophie as Sir Seisyll craned his head around slightly to study her profile. "My lady, do you happen to know what manner of stone that is in your ring?"

Sophie glanced up at him, startled, then hastily withdrew her hand back into the protective warmth of his cloak. "I—I'm not sure. I think…maybe it's amber?"

"Hm. Could be." He studied her in silence for a long moment. "Might it be shiral instead?"

Celsie glanced at Sophie, startled. Sophie averted her gaze, pretending to study the distant figures approaching Rhemuth, but her mind was whirling too rapidly to notice if any looked familiar or not. "I'm…not really sure, m'lord," she whispered.

"I see." Young Arilan looked pensive. "A pity, though. There are some folk who can use a shiral crystal to see over distances, given the right conditions, which would certainly be helpful just now." He glanced down at Sophie. "Your friend Bishop Duncan is one, I believe. I…don't suppose _you_ would happen to have such talents?"

Sophie stared at him, wide-eyed. "I—No." It was true, at least, that she hadn't learned how to use a shiral crystal for scrying yet.

"Ah, well. It was just a thought." His lips quirked in a faint smile. "Shall I just assume, then, that your ring is no more than a pretty little bauble you picked up in Nyford market, just as my own bit of golden gemstone is nothing more than an old bead fished out of the Eirian?" He tugged at a thin leather cord around his neck, revealing a simple round bead strung upon it. "I can go on assuming that, if that's what you wish, my lady."

"I—" Sophie bit her lip, glancing uncertainly at Celsie, then back at their escort. "Are _you _Deryni?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

Seisyll tilted his head, a ghost of a grin on his face. "I suppose that all depends. Is this conversation ever going to leave this tower?"

Two wide-eyed ladies shook their heads. The knight chuckled. "Well, in that case, let's just say my shiral bead is an old family heirloom, and that I know a few uses for it." His voice softened. "Your secret is safe, Lady Sophie. I have a few secrets as well, at least for the time being."

#

Ailidh, after checking with a liveried guard to ensure she was heading up the right tower, took the stairs two at a time until she reached the top. "Sophie!" She paused, panting for breath. "Your family just arrived."

"They're _here_?" Sophie glanced up at Seisyll, blushing as she realized she was still enveloped in his cloak. "But when….how…?"

"Your father said that your stepmother started feeling ill when they approached the gates of Rhemuth earlier tonight, so they stopped at an inn for a few hours to give her time to recover. He says he meant to send a message on ahead, but—well, at any rate, they're here now." Ailidh stared curiously and a trifle enviously at the handsome young knight still sheltering her friends under his cloak's warmth. "They've been assigned to quarters just a few doors down from ours. Come, I'll show you."

Sophie glanced up at Sir Seisyll, wondering if she dared attempt to send him mind-speech. She decided on a whisper instead. "My stepmother doesn't know about us." Realizing from his upraised eyebrow how that statement might be misconstrued, she turned scarlet and added, "That we're Deryni, I mean. Father and Stefan and I. She hates Deryni!"

Seisyll nodded in sudden understanding. "As I said, my lady, your secret is safe," he whispered back. Escorting the two ladies back indoors, he extricated himself from them, bowing over their hands once they were safely within the castle's shelter. Spying the matching ring on Celsie's hand, he gave her a wry smile. "_Both_ of your secrets." The blue-violet eyes gleamed. "Or should I make that all _three_ of you?" he asked, with a smile at Ailidh. "I'll see you safely into your father's keeping, at any rate. I've not seen Stefan in a couple of years."

"Oh! You know my brother?"

Seisyll nodded. "We trained together." He took the lead as they descended the spiral stair towards the ladies' apartment level.

"So _that's_ how you knew my father swears fealty to the Earl of Carthane!"

He smiled. "No. Or at least if Stefan told me, I'd forgotten it." Seisyll stopped at a door, pulling it open and holding it for the three ladies to enter.

"Well then….how did…?" Sophie's face was a study in puzzlement. The young knight laughed.

"I took the liberty of looking you up." He grinned down at her. "In the Royal Library. Father Nivard was most helpful." He waved at a familiar figure standing further down the corridor. "Stefan!"

The two former squires exchanged a hearty greeting while, behind them, two ladies giggled and a younger sister gaped.

#

Sophie threw herself into her father's arms, reveling in the comfort of his warm embrace after her long hours of worry. After a minute, she stepped back to give her stepmother a cordial, if less fervent, greeting.

"I heard you felt unwell during your trip into Rhemuth. I'm very sorry to hear it. I hope you're feeling much improved now?"

Alienora nodded coolly. "For the moment. It's mainly in the mornings, though the bumpy roads unsettled my stomach during the journey up. Ranulf, dear, I could use a bit of wine, please."

"Mainly in the mornings?" Sophie asked as her father scurried off to fetch a goblet for his wife.

"Yes, before breaking my fast. I'm almost past that stage, though." Alienora narrowed her eyes. "He hasn't told you yet?"

"Told me what?"

Her stepmother smiled proudly. "I'm with child."

Sophie, after a stunned moment, smiled, carefully masking her feelings. "You are? Well…what a lovely surprise!" Turning to her father, returning with a wineglass, she mindspoke, _I thought Alienora was barren!_

_ So did I,_ he answered her, flushing slightly as he handed the wine to his wife and tucked a warm blanket around her. "There you go. Warmer now, I hope?"

"Much better. Thank you." Alienora's blue eyes looked back up at Sophie. "So. Turn around, let me take a look at you. Is that a new gown?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Hm. Not quite your color, is it, dear? Makes your hair look a bit mud-toned."

Sophie willed herself not to react, although she could sense Ailidh's and Celsie's shock behind her.

"_I _think she looks lovely," Stefan said, coming up from behind to give his sister a warm hug. "Even if she _is_ diabolical." He grinned down at her, and she laughed.

"You got the game book back, then?"

"I did, indeed. Unfairly played, sister! I had to work for hours to come up with a new strategy." He handed the bound volume back to her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Your turn now. And are you going to keep us in suspense, or do we get to meet your friends?" He turned a welcoming smile towards Celsie and Ailidh."

"Oh! Yes, these are my sister ladies-in-waiting, Lady Celeste de Chervignon, and Mistress Ailidh nic Ardry, originally of Transha, but step-daughter to the Baron of Marlor. Celsie, Ailidh, allow me to present my father, Sir Ranulf de Varney, his wife Alienora, and my brother Stefan." She glanced around, belatedly realizing that Sir Seisyll had entered with her brother. "And...um...do you already know Sir Seisyll Arilan?" she added, coloring slightly as she noticed the frankly appraising look her father was giving the young knight.

"We've met a few times before, I believe," Sir Ranulf affirmed, with an inquiring glance at his daughter.

Young Arilan witnessed the nonverbal exchange with a faint smile. "A pleasure to see you again, Sir Ranulf."

"Arilan. Hm. And who is your family? Anyone of importance?" Alienora asked. Sophie suppressed a gasp, wishing the floor would swallow her.

"I'm Laird of Tre-Arilan, just a short distance outside of Rhemuth, my Lady," he answered, no hint of offense in his tone as he answered her. "My father was Sir Jamyl Arilan, formerly on the late King Brion's Council, and my uncle Denis is Bishop of Dhassa."

"Ah. _Those_ Arilans." Alienora frowned slightly, but sounded somewhat mollified. "A respectable enough family, I suppose."

Sir Ranulf frowned, looking uncomfortably at his young wife. "Alienora...pet..."

"Yes, well, it's quite late, I suppose we really ought to be heading back to our quarters," Celsie interposed, her voice a bit brighter than normal and a slightly desperate gleam in her wide blue eyes. "It's been..._delightful_ meeting you!" she added with a curtsy. Sophie wondered that she didn't choke on the unaccustomed lie. She looked up at her brother for rescue. Stefan gazed back, an ironic gleam in his eyes.

_Happy Christmas, little sister. I do apologize; I'd love to have left her hogtied at Kestrel Mote with an apple stuffed in her maw, but I'm afraid Father wouldn't allow it. _The mental image he sent with the apology nearly made her burst out laughing.

An unaccustomed mental touch startled her. _Will you be all right if I leave you here to walk your friends back to your quarters, or shall we wait for you? _Sophie glanced sharply at the young knight, who regarded her steadily, his twilight-colored eyes dark with concern.

_I...suppose I should stay, at least for a short while. I'm _so_ sorry about Alienora!_

_ No need to apologize. _A hint of a laugh in the mental voice. _ Stefan forewarned me before we entered. _He bowed over her hand. "I'm glad your family arrived healthy and whole, Lady Sophie. If you'll excuse me, I'll see your friends back to your quarters." He directed a respectful bow at Sir Ranulf. "Sir, might I have your permission to call upon Lady Sophie tomorrow? Perhaps after Mass?"

Sir Ranulf's speculative gaze fell on his daughter again. "I suppose I could allow that."

"Until the morrow, then, my lady."

#

Sir Seisyll actually caught up with Sophie before the Mass began, managing to find a place just behind her. _I hope you're well this morning_, he mind-spoke. _And how is your family?_

_Fine. _ She blushed. _Except...they all assume you're courting me. I _am_ sorry!_

He grinned as he caught a glimpse of her flushed cheek in profile. _So I gathered. And would that be a problem?_

Seisyll felt her startled reaction through their link. _I...um...you're _not,_ are you?_

He stifled a laugh. _No, not yet,_ he reassured her, sensing her skittishness. _ It might be best if we were to become a bit better acquainted first._

An inaudible sigh of relief. _Yes, that's what I thought_.

_You're not unalterably opposed to the idea, though, I hope? _He nearly held his breath, awaiting her response.

_What? Oh...no. I don't suppose so. _The mental voice was uncertain, shy.

Sir Seisyll smiled. _Then let's just take things one day at a time._


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The twelve days of Christmas seemed to speed by in a whirlwind of activity, feasting, and visits with family and friends long unseen. Alienora, much to Sophie's relief, preferred to remain in the de Varnays' private apartment for the most part, although she had much to say about its small size, its inconvenient location, and its close proximity to the quarters of some other families Sophie's stepmother deemed, for one reason or another, unsuitable. At one point, the Contessa had graciously invited Alienora to accompany her for a visit to Duchess Meraude's solar, but even that hadn't satisfied, once Alienora had realized that the wife of the evil Deryni Duke of Corwyn was also a welcome guest in the Royal Apartments. Thankfully, she'd at least had the good sense not to voice her displeasure to Duchess Meraude directly, although the de Varnay family certainly caught an earful later that afternoon.

"I cannot imagine what the young King is thinking, allowing such riffraff in his Court! Though he's young yet, and there's hope he'll outgrow their influence. " She eyed Sophie speculatively. "A good woman might bring him around, although I suppose _you're_ too busy chasing after humble young knights with few prospects, like that Arilan fellow." She snorted. "You've no ambition at all."

"None," Sophie had cheerfully agreed, thoroughly fed up. "Why, look how low the sun is in the sky! I must be off; I've promised to meet the other girls for feast tonight."

"You cannot _possibly _venture downstairs unchaperoned, Sophronia!"

"Oh, I shan't. Stefan will escort me, won't you, brother?" She smiled winsomely at her brother, who chuckled.

"Right gladly." _I've had enough of her for one day also._

#

A few minutes later, after Sophie had changed into another gown that even Alienora grudgingly had to admit looked quite lovely on her (despite another jibe about Sophie's "queer-colored" eyes), the two younger de Varnays headed downstairs towards the Great Hall.

"And what, may I ask, is so 'queer' about my eyes?" Sophie asked hotly once the two were out of earshot.

Stefan chuckled. "Absolutely nothing. She just says that to annoy you. In case you haven't figured it out yet, she's quite jealous of you."

"Of _me_? Why?"

He grinned. "Well, when Father brought her home to Kestrel Mote, I suspect he forgot to mention that she'd be inheriting a step-daughter only eight years younger, not to mention prettier."

"But…that's ridiculous! Alienora—"

"Yes, I know. She _looks_ like a storybook princess. And, given sufficient motivation—which, granted, she's not had since she managed to ensnare our father—she can even _behave_ like a storybook princess. But she's spoiled, not used to sharing attention, and certainly wasn't expecting Father to have another 'pet princess' on hand. And besides that," he added with a wry smile, "she probably suspects you have our mother's eyes."

"So do _you_!" Sophie fumed, turning to study her brother. "They're just hazel. Greener around the edges, more golden near the center. So what?"

"_I'm_ a man, not the 'competition.' And it's got you bothered now, which is _exactly_ what Alienora wants. Don't let her get to you so." He grinned. "So, tell me about Arilan, and why he's hanging around my baby sister."

She blushed. "There's nothing really to tell. I'd only met him twice before the evening you arrived, and the first time, I didn't even get his name. He was only being courteous. He found out I was worried because you hadn't shown up yet, and so he offered to help. That's it!"

"Umhm."

"Really! _You_ could probably tell me a lot more about him; weren't you squires together?"

"We were. Hm. Seisyll Arilan." He smiled. "He's a quiet sort, though easy enough to get going if you get him on the right topic. Dry sense of humor, tends to like to stay on the outside of a crowd and just watch the action, but if you can get him to share what he's thinking about it, his impressions are dead-on and often fall-over-laughing funny. His father died when he was quite young, so he's had a lot of responsibility to grow into, but as far as I've ever heard, he shoulders it well. He's got two younger sisters and a younger brother he looks after." Stefan grinned. "He might look after the sisters a bit _too_ well. God knows _I'd_ be scared to court them!"

"In other words, you've already tried."

"Well….not 'court', exactly." Stefan quipped, looking quite unrepentant. "He throws a mean right cross."

Sophie rolled her eyes at her brother. "Enough about _your_ misspent youth. Tell me about his."

Stefan laughed. "Oh, if Arilan had one, he was extremely discreet about it. Mind, he's got as much of an eye for a pretty lass as the next man, but he's not one to be courting a new one every other month. Or anything less honorable, so far as I know." He slanted a thoughtful look at his sister. "Then again, they say it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for."

#

They joined Sophie's sister ladies-in-waiting for that night's feast, Stefan occupying a place of honor between blonde and redhead, with his sister and their chaperone sitting across the table from them, exchanging occasional wry smiles with each other as Sophie's brother amused his meal companions with one anecdote after another about his days as a squire in Rhemuth's Court. Finally, spotting some old friends of his across the Hall, he excused himself to renew their acquaintance.

"He's very charming," Celsie said, smiling at Sophie.

"Yes. _And_ also unmarried, close to your age, and Deryni," the Contessa teased.

Celsie laughed. "Oh, I suppose he is, but I'm not interested in him like _that_!" She sighed dreamily. "I...have other hopes."

Constanza sighed inwardly, knowing exactly what those hopes were, and also knowing how unlikely they were to ever come to anything. "Well, what about you, Ailidh dear?"

Ailidh rolled her eyes. "I'm off men, remember? But..." She caught Sophie's gaze and grinned. "I do have to admit, he's almost enough to make me reconsider. Then sanity returns."

"Oh?" Sophie teased. "How can it return when you never had any to begin with?"

Ailidh made as if she were about to catapult a pea across the table at Sophie with her spoon, but catching the Contessa's eye, she subsided.

#

Soon the feast was over and the tables put away, the hall being cleared for dancing and other revelry.

"Oh, _there_ you are!" Celsie appeared at Sophie's side, looping her arm around Sophie's. "You have to come. Ailidh's met up with a few of her Transha kinsmen, and they've got a tall tale contest going." She giggled. "I could listen to border men talk all day."

Sophie allowed herself to be led to a corner of the Great Hall, where she soon found herself standing at the edge of a boisterous group of men wearing Transha colors.

"An' sae there wasnae any help for it, we hadtae swim th' twenty miles tae get there afore daybreak..." one young Border knight was saying, a twinkle in his whiskey-colored eyes.

"Twenty miles? Is tha' _all_, Jass?" Ciard O Ruane hooted in derision. "Ye young lads, ye're a soft lot, is what ye are."

"Tha's no' what th' _last _lassie Jass courted said," another helpfully supplied, although he was thanked for his dubious support by a surreptitious kick.

"Ladies present," Sir Jass reminded the errant man-at-arms with a suppressed grin. "So, where was I? Aye, we were swimmin' across th' Gulf o' Kheldour..."

"In full armor," another MacArdry chimed in.

"Aye, in full armor..."

Ailidh caught Sophie's eye and grinned, edging over to stand by her other side. "You think they're full of it now, just wait until they're in their cups!" Behind them, the musicians began tuning their instruments. The Border girl's eyes lit up. "Sounds like they're getting ready for the dancing to begin."

"So, do you dance Lowlander style yet?" a voice behind Ailidh asked. She turned to find Dhugal grinning down at her.

"Aye, I can hold my own," she replied, tilting her head in challenge.

"We'll see about that. Save me one, then." He grinned, clapping her on the back, and moved on, greeting some of his fellow Borderers and calling out a few good-natured jibes about the boasting tale still in progress before moving down the Hall to mingle briefly with a few Cassani and Kierney men standing there.

_Ooh, dancing with a Duke_! Sophie teased.

_It's just Dhugal,_ she got back, though Ailidh's color was higher than normal and, Sophie realized with a start, something in her expression seemed oddly vulnerable at that moment. The mood passed almost in an instant, though, and soon the Border girl was tapping her foot to the melody the musicians had struck up.

The contest wound down, Sir Jass being declared the winner. He was hoisted, laughing, onto the shoulders of several Transha men as the bystanders laughed, moving out of their way so the victor could be marched around the Hall despite his protests. Celsie giggled helplessly. "I imagine you must have had loads of fun in Transha as a young girl," she told Ailidh.

"Aye," Ailidh agreed softly. "It _was _fun." The momentary melancholy returned briefly, though it was just as quickly dispelled when the Transha men returned, finally relinquishing their load...or, rather, dumping it quite abruptly at Ailidh's feet.

"And what am I supposed to do wi' this braggart, I'd like tae know?" she asked, hands on hips as she looked at the laughing man sprawled at her feet, lapsing slightly into her former Borderer brogue in the presence of the familiar faces from her childhood.

"I _could_ make a few suggestions, lassie, but ye've turned all prim an' proper now," Sir jass teased. "So if ye'd just offer me a hand up, I'd be grateful."

"Aye. Because ye can swim the Gulf o' Keldour in full armor, but ye cannae get off th' floor wi'out a lass tae help," Ailidh retorted. She reached down to help Jass back to his feet.

"I could quiet that sharp tongue if ye'd only move about three feet tae yer left," the Transha knight joked, glancing upwards with mischief in his eyes.

"Under th' mistletoe? Dream on, Jass." Still, she smiled faintly as he stood. "I've had my fill o' mistletoe for th' rest o' my life!"

He laughed. "Aye. So I heard." The whiskey-colored eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "Ye shouldhae heard Dhugal goin' on about yer 'orgy bush.' I wouldnae think ye'd need tae bring back _tha'_ much incentive, Ailidh _mo nighean_; ye've grown up right bonny."

"Thank you," Ailidh said, though the oddly shadowed look had returned.

_Is something the matter with Ailidh tonight? _ Sophie mindspoke to Celsie.

_With Ailidh? Not that I know of. Why?_

_ She just...doesn't seem quite herself._

_ Oh? I'd not noticed. Maybe she's just tired? We've had a busy couple of weeks, after all._

Sophie frowned. _Maybe,_ she thought back, still unconvinced.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Twelfth Night. It was the final night of the Christmas season, the grand finale of the holiday season of courts and feasts and merrymaking. The girls had awakened eagerly that morning, despite having been up quite late the evening before, dashing off to early Mass without so much as a quiet grumble from Ailidh, for they were all looking forward to delivering their gifts immediately afterwards.

As they flew down the staircase, they encountered Sean Earl Derry. "Are you coming to Mass?" Celsie asked breathlessly.

He smiled, "Oh, I'll probably catch a later one."

"What, too many sins to confess all at once for you to make ready for the first one?" Ailidh jibed, a knowing glint in her eye, for she'd begun to suspect where the Contessa's nocturnal wanderings through the secret passages were taking her. She hoped she was wrong, for Celsie's sake, but she'd begun to sense a closeness between their patroness and the Earl that seemed to go beyond mere casual acquaintance.

He laughed. "Maybe I'm storing up for Easter," he joked.

Celsie's eyes widened. "Oh, you _mustn't_, Lord Derry!"

He grinned down at the earnest young maiden. "Don't worry, sweeting. With all those prayers you've sent up for me already, I'll probably find a host of angels waiting to offer me safe conduct through the Pearly Gates the moment I pass on, just based on _your_ good behavior." He winked.

She sighed. "Well, that reminds me anyway, I've a Twelfth Night gift for you!"

Derry smiled. "Another handkerchief?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, I can't tell you," she said archly. "You'll see it soon enough."

#

Celsie was disappointed to find that Lord Derry had not returned to his quarters yet by the time she and her companions made their way to his door, but she had realized that possibility beforehand, so she simply pushed the thin wrapped present through the small gap under his door. He would realize who it was from, she knew. Even if he didn't notice her name on the wrapping, he could hardly fail to recognize the needlework. She smiled happily, her eyes lighting up with anticipation as she imagined him opening the tiny parcel up and tucking the new handkerchief into his doublet, next to his heart.

They moved on, Sophie wanting to head downstairs to the Royal Library next, for she had a couple of framed sketches she wished to give to Father Nivard and Bishop Duncan.

#

Their deliveries took up most of the hours that were not already reserved for Court, though they made certain to be present for that, eager to see who would be knighted and whose betrothals would be announced. _Maybe Sir Seisyll will have a special announcement to make next year,_ Celsie teased Sophie, who just rolled her eyes and blushed.

_He is_ not _courting me!_ she insisted. _We're just friends._

_Oh? Is that why he turns up at our apartment almost daily, and why he danced with you three times last night?_

_ He's just being polite._

_ Umhmm. I wish Lord Derry were that 'polite' to _me_! _Celsie stifled a giggle.

_#_

The Twelfth Night Feast surpassed even the fine dining they'd enjoyed over the previous eleven days, gaining even Alienora's grudging approval and making her almost pleasant company in the few hours she ventured out of the de Varnay apartments before heading back upstairs right after Feast to take her rest. At last, once the food had a chance to settle and the evening's performances had come to an end, the Great Hall was cleared for one more Christmas Season revel for the visiting populace to enjoy before the majority of them would start heading back to their own lands over the following days.

The musicians struck up the opening strains of the first dance. The young ladies soon found themselves besieged by dance requests, Sophie soon whirling away on the arm of Sir Seisyll yet again (much to Celsie's amusement), and Ailidh dragged off, only half protesting, by Sir Jass. Celsie smiled as Sir Stefan de Varnay approached, accepting his offer to lead her through the next dance.

Before they'd gotten more than a few steps into it, however, Stefan found another man's hand tapping his shoulder. He turned to see Earl Derry. "Pardon me, Sir Stefan, but I'm stealing your partner."

Celsie found herself being whisked away, suddenly several feet away from her friend's startled brother. She gaped up at Lord Derry. "My Lord?" she said, giggling.

"Have I ever mentioned you look like an angel?" Derry said. "Like one of those golden-haired angels on the frescoed ceilings of a cathedral."

She laughed. "I hope not! They're all male; at least the ones _I've_ seen in cathedrals are."

He grinned. "Well, aside from that." His arm tightened around her, and she blushed, wondering what had gotten into the Earl. As much as this evening was shaping up to be like something out of her fondest dreams, Derry's behavior seemed a trifle...unusual.

"Your form, thank God, is not at _all _angelic. _Definitely_ not male. Such sweet, lovely curves! Let's get married, Celsie," he murmured in her ear. Heedless of the large number of people who surrounded them, he pulled her even closer, beginning to nuzzle at her neck. She pulled back, startled, and glanced up towards the roof beams half-instinctively. No, there was no mistletoe directly overhead.

"Um...Lord Derry?"

"I love you, Celsie." The blue eyes gleamed almost feverishly. A sudden thought occurred to the demoiselle.

"Oh dear God...!"

Derry deftly maneuvered Celsie into a dark alcove, directly underneath one of the ribbon-bound clumps of mistletoe Duchess Meraude's ladies had fashioned from the basketloads Ailidh had donated.

"My Lord, what are you doi-?"

The question was abruptly cut off by a kiss, tender at first, but swiftly growing more demanding as his body pressed her into the deeper shadows of the niche. Celsie's head reeled. She tried to push him away, alarmed. "Sean, _please_, you can't-"

"What in the _hell _are you doing, Sean!" the Contessa hissed, suddenly appearing behind Derry, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him away from the trembling maiden. "Are you in your cups, or have you just taken total leave of your senses?!"

Sean Derry shook his head as if attempting to clear it. "I'm sorry, Stanzi. So sorry, sweeting. I'm awfully fond of you—you know that—but our dalliance has got to end. It's been delightful, but I'm in love with Lady Celsie." He nodded, his eyes slightly glazed. "We're getting married."

"Your...your _dalliance_?" Celsie's blue eyes fastened on Constanza, reflecting her dazed confusion. Tears began to well up.

Constanza stared at Derry in shock, then whirled on Celsie. "Oh, sweet Jesú! Celsie, what did you give him for Twelfth Night?"

Celsie, completely drained of color, clamped her fingertips to her mouth.

"Answer me, child!"

"It's—It's in his doublet, I think," Celsie finally managed to whisper.

Constanza spared a brief glance over her shoulder to see if anyone on the dance floor had just witnessed the compromising scene—fortunately most seemed intent on their dancing or caught up in conversations to take any notice of what was happening in the shadowed alcove, partially hidden behind an arras, although one or two people had started to look in their direction curiously—then she turned back towards Derry, plunging her fingers into the opening of his doublet and his shirt front, snagging the edge of a handkerchief with her fingertips and extricating it deftly. "Hey!" Derry protested, but she silenced him with a swift touch and a mental command.

_You will remember nothing of this! _ she instructed him, altering his memories of the evening slightly to include an ill-advised dare involving some visiting Bordermen and copious quantities of Ballymar whiskey.

"You're drunk, Sean. Let's head upstairs." The Contessa speared Celsie with a look. _And you, too, will go upstairs, young lady! But not just yet. Let's not set every tongue in Rhemuth to wagging! S_he glanced around the Great Hall, her gaze eventually falling on Alaric Morgan and Richenda. _I need you!_ she mind-spoke to her startled cousin, briefly sending impressions and images to her of what had just happened, albeit slightly edited to leave out certain quite personal details. _And I might require your lord's assistance in getting Derry back to his quarters._

#

With Morgan's assistance, Derry was soon helped back upstairs, reeling quite convincingly with supposed inebriation and poured deftly onto his bed. Alaric, after hearing Constanza's account of what had happened, grudgingly agreed it was probably for the best that Derry not remember the details of how he'd accosted Alaric's young ward, especially given that the whole situation wasn't at all his fault, though he insisted on being present when the Contessa questioned Celsie. The demoiselle, now escorted upstairs by Duchess Richenda, looked quite distraught when she entered her apartment.

"I never meant for that to happen! I don't know what went wrong," she told them, weeping.

Duchess Richenda took Celsie's hands in her own. "We know you didn't," she said gently. "But we need to know, what _exactly_ did you pray into those stitches?"

The demoiselle's lips trembled. She glanced uncertainly at Constanza, then back down at her shaking hands, her face turning crimson. "I just..." She turned miserable eyes back up at Richenda. "All I did was pray that he'd fall in love with me and...and that he'd be a true and honest husband to me!"

Alaric Morgan, leaning against the wall, winced.

"Oh, dear." Richenda squeezed Celsie's hands. "The handkerchief will need to be destroyed, then. I'm certain you can understand why, now that you've seen its effects."

Celsie nodded. "I never dreamed it would do _that _to him! I wouldn't have...it's not _right_...He's going to _hate_ me now!" she wailed.

"It's definitely _not_ right, Celsie. I know you never meant to harm Derry, but a love spell of that sort takes away the recipient's free will. He was under a compulsion, and I'm quite sure you never meant for that to happen."

The girl shook her head vehemently. "No!" She swallowed. "It wasn't real. He said he loved me, but it was never _real_." The blue eyes turned up to meet Richenda's looked haunted.

Richenda gathered Celsie in her arms as the girl shook with sobs, looking more like a young child now rather than a woman of seventeen years. "Shh. Hush now, sweeting. Look at me."

At last, Celsie regained enough composure to draw back. "Yes, Your Grace? Am I—Are you sending me back to Chervignon?"

Richenda looked startled. She smoothed the damp golden hair back from the girl's tear-stained cheeks. "Goodness, no! If anything, tonight's mistake shows you definitely need more supervised training, and we can hardly offer you _that_ if we send you packing! No, dear. We can undo the spell; it will be easy enough to unwork. And Derry need never know what happened tonight. But you must _promise_ you will never work another spell of that sort unless your work is properly supervised, and that you'll not attempt to work one on your own again until you've been fully trained. Only once one of _us_ has told you that you're ready," she added swiftly, remember the brash overconfidence of youth. "And by 'that sort,' I mean _any_ spell that has the potential to influence another person's behavior or well-being. Not simply love spells; I think now you understand why you're not to attempt _those_ at all!"

Celsie nodded, looking quite subdued. "I'm just as bad as Master Rannigan," she whispered.

"Oh, child, never that! Your steward knew full well what he was doing when he sought to take advantage of you. _ Your _actions were an accident. Unfortunate, but not malicious_._"

Ailidh and Sophie burst into the apartment, laughing. "You'll _never_ believe who actually danced with Sophie!" Ailidh announced, though the sight of Celsie's devastated expression and the somber expressions of the others in the room stopped both girls in their tracks once they noticed. "What's wrong?"

_I'll explain later, _the Contessa mindspoke to them, _For now, though, let's just get Celsie off to bed. _She glanced at Alaric and Richenda, sending them similar thoughts. Ailidh and Sophie nodded in agreement, reining in their curiosity for the moment as they attempted to comfort Celsie, escorting her out of the room into their adjoining bedchamber.

"We'll check back with you in the morning," the Duke quietly assured Constanza. "And I think I'll stop by Derry's quarters again just to make sure there aren't any lingering effects. You kept that handkerchief?"

Constanza produced the item, carefully not handling the embroidered corner. "Did you wish to hold it for safekeeping?"

Alaric chuckled grimly. "God, no! Not unless she prayed Derry's name into it specifically." He gave his wife a wry smile. "The _last_ thing I want is to start throwing myself at my ward!"

The Duke and Duchess of Corwyn took their leave. Exhausted, Constanza fell into a chair, staying up just long enough to share what had happened with Sophie and Ailidh, warning them to keep a close eye on Celsie until she'd fallen fast asleep, for she was concerned for Celsie's fragile emotional state, and then, realizing that hers was probably the last face Celsie wanted to see just then, she went to bed, any hopes of celebrating the end of the holiday season in her lover's arms quite forgotten.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Ailidh nic Ardry lay awake late into the night, listening to the soft rhythmic breathing of her sleeping sisters—for so they'd come to think of each other now—as she stared into the darkness, unable to still her thoughts. Celsie's wildly sobbed tale, and Constanza's more soberly recounted version shared with them afterwards, had made for an abrupt and disquieting end to the evening's earlier merriment.

_Sweet Jesú, I _hate_ love! Life would be so much simpler without it._

She lay in the darkness, her thoughts awhirl with one fleeting memory after another. _Twelfth Night in Transha, watching the MacArdry men dance, kilts swirling as they leapt over crossed swords to the sound of the pipes. Twelfth Night in Marlor, a girl newly come to Odhran's Baronial court, bewildered by different customs, for her mother's new husband's court had been an odd admixture of Border and lowlander ways. She'd been so homesick, but there'd been letters—Caldreana's letters—to bring a smile to her face. And once—_only_ once, but God how she'd treasured it!—a brief message from the MacArdry tanist himself, which she'd read nearly to tatters despite its brevity, then stored carefully in a box of her most precious keepsakes when she dared not carry it about any longer for fear it would fall to pieces. Another Twelfth Night come and gone, and Ailidh more resigned to her new life, making friends in Marlor, beginning to blossom from the stick-thin, knobby-kneed child she'd been into a woman's softer curves. She'd caught Callum's eye then, and while he'd not been the one she truly wanted, she'd responded eagerly enough to his advances, so homesick for a familiar face from Transha that even Callum's brash wooing had, for a time, taken on the illusory sheen of polished gold rather than mere tarnished brass._

_ The following Twelfth Night. Ailidh's eyes squeezed shut, but still she couldn't block the memories of her wedding night and Callum's ardent lovemaking. He'd kissed away her tears afterwards, apologizing for hurting her, though truly he hadn't. Well, only briefly, but her tears hadn't been for the loss of her maidenhead, but for the loss of her childhood dreams. But she was a bride now, and so she must put childish things away and learn how to be a good wife to the man she'd accepted. At least he was a Transha man, and maybe someday he'd bring her back home. She'd have _that _much, at least, if not everything she'd once hoped for. And she had learned to care for Callum, at least a little, though it was far from the deep yearning she'd once had for another Border lad._

_ And then that morning she'd opened the door to find Geillis' brother standing there. The day she learned Callum had never truly made her a wife. Their sham of a marriage hadn't even lasted into February._

_ And now tonight—or was it last night, now?—dancing with Dhugal, not just Earl and Chief of Transha anymore but a Duke as well, and even farther out of her scope than ever, their palms touching as he led her through the slow pavane, amber eyes meeting hers above a fond smile, lips brushing the back of her hand at the end, awakening slumbering feelings she'd thought were long dead. Had _wanted_ them dead, for they only brought pain now, not joy._

No, she wanted no part of love anymore. She was off men for life. Or that's what she told herself, anyway, even as she stood, wrapping a cloak around her night-rail and venturing into the sitting room to stare at the dying fire on the hearth. Outside, the winter winds whispered, lulling her, finally coaxing her thoughts into stillness, but with the cessation of tormenting thoughts came a sudden need for action, and before she'd stopped to consider what she was doing, she found herself leaving her apartment, traveling through the secret passages she and her sisters had carefully mapped, pausing along her path only when new corridors branched off, but following her route swiftly and surely until she reached the end of one long passage.

#

He wasn't asleep yet. Not quite, anyway. A quick mental probe had ascertained that, but now Ailidh stood uncertainly in the dark corridor, shivering slightly with cold beneath her cloak, her bare feet offering no protection from the floor's damp chill, for now that she'd stopped moving her thoughts were beginning to return, and she realized she shouldn't be here. Not at this hour, certainly not in her night-rail! Sweet Jesú, what would he think of her?

Her hand, already lifted to trace the glyph in the air for the spell to open up the passage door, started to lower, but suddenly the panel slid open on its own. A firm hand reached out, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her inside, while at her neck she felt the cold edge of sharp steel. She froze, staring fearfully into amber eyes that glared down angrily at first, then with growing bewilderment.

"Ailidh?!" Dhugal whispered in shock.

She dropped her eyes. He released her wrist abruptly, and she took a swift step backwards, but her back encountered solid wall where there'd been an opening just a moment before.

Another man—she had a brief glimpse of dark chestnut brown hair and Transha colors in the soft firelight—entered the room, stopping as his eyes quickly took in the scene, glancing swiftly from his Chief to the border girl and back again, a fire beginning to smolder in the whiskey-colored eyes. "Damn it, Dhugal, if ye've dishonored her—"

"I haven't." Dhugal took a step back, running agitated fingers through his copper-bronze hair, for once loosed from its customary Border braid. "But I'd best see the squires stay asleep, lest they assume I have." He turned back to Ailidh. "_You_ stay put," he half-growled, his voice low and dangerous, a tone she'd never heard from him before. "And turn around," he added, reaching out to grab her by the shoulders to ensure she complied.

"Turn?" she managed, still stunned.

"Aye, and _keep silent_! It's bad enough, you being in my bedchamber, but if one of my squires is still awake and recognizes your voice, and then _I _come wandering out wearing naught but a bedsheet, how's _that_ going to look? Sweet Jesú, lass, we're not _twelve_ anymore!" An explosive sigh. "Jass, you bloody well never saw this. She was never here. But don't _you_ go anywhere either! Dear merciful God…."

Ailidh heard the soft rustle of fabric behind her, which she assumed was the sound of Dhugal getting dressed, but she was hardly going to risk his further ire by peeking, especially with Sir Jass standing there watching them both. She bowed her head, cursing her stupidity, until she heard Dhugal's footfalls leave the room. A short while later, he returned, the door softly creaking closed behind him.

#

"All right, Ailidh." Dhugal struggled to keep his voice even, realizing he'd given the girl a fright earlier. "What in the—" He bit back the string of expletives that threatened to stream forth, modifying the question to a simpler, "_Why_ are you in my bedchamber at God-forsaken-o'-clock in the morning?"

The green-gray eyes flashed up at him at that, a hint of their usual spirit beginning to flare. "I'd not _be_ in yer bedchamber now if ye'd not yanked me _intae_ it!" Her gaze dropped. "I was about to leave," she admitted, suddenly back to being a demure Court lady instead of the fiery Border lass of a scant second before. Dhugal found the change a bit dizzying and oddly annoying. "And I had no idea your door opened into a bedchamber. _Ours_ opens into our sitting room," she said, somehow managing a quiet dignity despite her disheveled appearance and unconventional state of dress. He tried not to think about the flash of fine cambric he'd briefly glimpsed under her cloak.

"All right. Fair enough." He closed his eyes briefly, feeling a slight headache coming on. "That doesn't answer the question of why you were wandering about outside it in the first place. "

She slid down the wall, sitting on the floor against the secret doorway, suddenly tired. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been." The defiant mask she'd worn cracked slightly, and Dhugal caught a glimpse of pain in her shadowed eyes.

"No, you shouldn't have been, but you're here now. Ailidh…." He crossed the room to stand before her, reaching down to give her a hand back up. "What's wrong, lass?"

She ignored his hand, or perhaps she simply didn't see it through the tears that filled her eyes as she lifted her face to him. "It was two years ago."

"What was, Ailidh?" he asked softly.

The tears spilled over. "My wedding. It was on Twelfth Night, two years ago," she answered quietly. "Except I married the wrong man, the bloody bastard!"

Dhugal felt like a man who'd just stepped from solid ground onto quicksand.

#

Dhugal drew Jass MacArdry aside. "Look, I can't explain, but I need you to step out for a short while. Just outside the chamber door will be fine."

Jass glanced back at Ailidh, still huddled against the wall, and then back at his chief, looking mutinous. "You want me to leave you alone wi' th' lass. In yer _bedchamber_. Dhugal, do ye know what yer askin' o' me?"

The Transha chief, seeing the barely banked fury in his liegeman's eyes, sighed. "I suppose I do _now_. Jass, I'm not going to take advantage of her. Trust me." Dhugal took a quick glance over his shoulder. "You _see_ what a state she's in!"

"Aye, barely clothed!"

"Not _that_!" He closed his eyes briefly, praying for patience. "She's _upset_, man! She's about ready to come apart, I think, but as long as _you're_ in here, I don't think she'll open up to me about it. Just…let her get it all out, and then once it's all sorted, I'll send her back to her own quarters. "

Jass looked past Dhugal at Ailidh, her head still bowed as she sat clasping her knees, her bare toes peeking out from under her cloak. He sighed. "Aye, then." His eyes met Dhugal's again, willing to trust, yet still guarded. "But_ I'm_ walkin' her back."

"You can't. You won't be able to open—"

"I _said_ I'm walkin' her back!"

Dhugal knew how to pick his battles, knew also this was one he had no desire to fight. "Aye, then. I'll let you back in after."

#

"I'm sorry," she was mumbling into his shoulder. "I shouldn't have come. I wasn't thinking."

"I know." Dhugal risked an awkward pat on Ailidh's back, wishing he knew what to say or do to help her. "It's all right, lass. You're in Rhemuth now; you can make a fresh start."

She shook her head. "No, I can't."

"Aye, you can." He pulled back slightly to look at her, cupping her damp cheek in his hand. "I know Callum wronged you, but there'd be any number of men who'd be willing—"

"I don't _want_ any number o' men!" Ailidh snapped, "An' I don't want tae be bartered off like some brood mare!"

"Well, no…no, of course not!" he hastily agreed, disconcerted. "What _do_ you want then, lass?"

She swiped angrily at one cheek with a free hand. "Bluidy men, always trying tae _fix _things. Ye ever think maybe a lass just needs an ear and a shoulder now an' again?"

"All right…well, you've certainly got _that _right now!" Dhugal said with a rueful smile. Seeing it, Ailidh made a quiet sound, almost a laugh, though with a little catch at the end of it.

He drew her closer, brushing his lips against the top of her head. "It will be all right, you'll see, Ailidh. I'll see you cared for."

A strangled sob, and then the MacArdry chief suddenly found an armful of soft, yielding woman pressed against him, clinging to him like someone in danger of drowning and taking her rescuer under in the process. "It should've been _you_! I never wanted Callum, not _truly_, but _he's_ the one who offered…oh, Jesú!"

Realization broke over Dhugal like waves crashing over a man going under for the last time, as her rock-hard shields crumbled and he was suddenly swamped by an outpouring of raw emotion. "Oh, Ailidh, I'm sorry….I didn't realize…."

_Damn it all, why the _hell _did I send Jass away?!_

He held her tight and rode out the sudden storm.

#

Her emotions spent, she drew back, knowing she ought to be mortified, but suddenly too exhausted to care. It would matter in the morning—dear God, how would she ever look him in the eye again?!—but for now, she was too numb to feel anymore.

Dhugal had drawn back, was now studying her with concern and caring in his shiral eyes. Concern and caring, but nothing more.

She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll go back now."

He nodded. "Aye, it'll be dawn soon. You'd best not be caught out of bed. I'll have Jass walk you back." He brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. "Try to get some sleep."

She made no protest, simply stood, turning away from him. After a moment, she asked, There's another woman you love, isn't there?" Her head bowed. "I wasn't trying to pry, but I caught a glimpse before your shields went up."

"Aye."

She nodded, the head rising proudly, though she couldn't bring herself to turn back towards him. "Well, that's good, then. A Duke needs a fittin' consort. God knows _I'm_ nae fit for th' job."

"Ailidh…." He felt utterly helpless, not knowing what to do or say that wouldn't hurt her further.

"I need to get back, Dhugal."

He sighed. "Aye, you do." Walking to the door, he opened it to allow Jass in.

"She's ready," Dhugal said. He handed Jass a lit candle, then raised his hand to open the secret panel, watching as the two disappeared into the darkness.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

When Ailidh woke up, it was midday. Celsie, the Contessa informed her, had awakened before her usual time, wanting to go to confession before seeking the solace of the early Mass. Sophie had agreed to accompany her. Ailidh, pleading a headache, requested permission to remain in the apartment for the rest of the day. She had little desire to venture out to the Great Hall, or anywhere else in the Castle for that matter, for fear of having to face Dhugal again so soon.

At mid-afternoon, as she sat listlessly picking at some bread and cheese, a knock sounded at the door. She stood to answer it, but Constanza waved her back down, opening the door herself.

"Sir Jass MacArdry at your service, my Lady. Is Mistress Ailidh within?"

Ailidh glanced towards the entrance, startled. It _was_ his voice, but she almost hadn't recognized it, unused as she was to hearing him speak in the more proper Court accent of Rhemuth.

"She is, but I'm afraid she's feeling unwell. Might I convey a message?" the Contessa answered.

Ailidh stood, forcing down a twinge of nervousness. She had no idea why Jass had stopped by. She had no reason to think he'd bring up her visit to Dhugal's chambers, but still...

"Jass?"

The golden-brown eyes smiled reassuringly at her, then back down at the Contessa. "I beg pardon, my Lady. I realize it's most irregular, but might I be permitted to have a private word with my kinswoman?"

"Well..." Constanza turned towards Ailidh, about to refuse, but saw the plea in the girl's eyes. She looked back at Jass with a slight frown. "And how are you related to Ailidh?"

"We're cousins, my Lady." No trace of guile showed in the Border knight's eyes.

After a moment, Constanza sighed, stepping back from the door. "I suppose it would be all right, if Ailidh feels up to it. You may visit with her in the window embrasure."

"May I bring her to the Minstrel's Gallery instead?"

The Contessa looked startled. "I suppose so, but why?"

An understanding smile. "Because it's usually empty this time of day, quite suitable for a quiet conversation, but we'll still be in plain sight of anyone walking through the Hall. I realize you don't know me, and have little reason to trust Ailidh into my keeping, but surely the Gallery would be public enough?"

Somewhat reassured, she nodded. "It would." She gave the Transha knight an assessing look. "Thank you."

#

"Since when did we become cousins?" Ailidh whispered once they were out of earshot. "I'm even less related to you than I am to Dhugal, and I'm only barely connected with him!"

"An' are ye a Transha lass?" Jass asked, slipping back into his natural dialect once the apartment door had closed behind them.

"Aye, but-"

"Ye cannae spit out a window in Transha wi'out hittin' a cousin, Ailidh. Gi' me a week an' a decent genealogy, an' I'll figure it out." He smiled, leading her down a level and through a long corridor to the empty Gallery.

"Jass, why are we here? If it's about last night, you needn't bother; I know better than to do anything that stupid again."

He ushered her to a chair, waiting until she was seated before pulling another one over to face her. Taking her hands in his, he studied her a long moment.

"Ailidh, I dinnae know what tha' was about last night, an' I'm nae goin' tae ask. Th' way I see it, unless one o' ye chooses tae tell me, it was a private matter, an' it's done." He stroked a thumb over the back of one of her hands, looking away for a moment as if struggling to figure out what to say next, then turned back to face her. "Are you in love wi' him?"

Her eyes dropped. "Does it matter?" she asked bitterly.

"Aye, it might."

A long silence. "He doesn't want me," she finally said, "So no, it really doesn't."

"_I_ want ye, Ailidh."

She looked up then, startled, and pulled away from him. "Jass...you barely even _know_ me! _Why_?" Her eyes grew wary. "Oh, sweet Jesu, he's pushin' me off on ye, isn't he? Well, ye can tell him I dinnae need carin' for! I can get by wi'out a man..."

"Ailidh, no! No, it's no' like _that_-" He broke off, laughing despite the seriousness of the situation and his intent. "Oh God, I've barely started, and I'm makin' a huge muck-up o' it already!" He shook his head. "Dhugal dinnae put me up tae this, I promise. He doesnae even know I'm here." He took one of her hands back, holding it gently between his own. "Ailidh..." He thought back, then grinned. "Do ye remember when ye still lived in Transha, an' you an' Lady Caldreana decided it would be a fine prank tae steal our clothes when th' lads went out for an evenin' swim?"

A reluctant smile. "Aye. An' ye waited until we'd fallen asleep tae sneak back in."

He chuckled. "I thought you and wee Caldie were two o' th' most annoyin' brats ever tae set foot in Transha Keep." He raised an eyebrow. "Ye were, ye know. Mostly _you_, since Caldreana dinnae get up tae half as much mischief after ye left Transha." He looked off into the distance, remembering. "Ye were but a young lass yet, an' I was pridin' myself on already bein' a man grown, squired tae ol' Cauley. I dinnae even notice at first when ye moved off tae Marlor, but after a while, I realized wha' was missin'-ye'd gone, an' taken all that spirit an' sass wi' ye. Transha just seemed emptier, somehow." He shrugged. "An' tha' might hae been th' end o' it, except after ye left, all yer old playmates started growin' up and blossomin' intae young women, getting' married, havin' bairns o' their own, an' every once in a while I'd wonder, whatever happened tae little Ailidh? Were ye still givin' th' laddies hell? Or maybe had ye found a man o' yer own tae love, an' brought him a wee bit o' heaven instead?" His whiskey-colored eyes searched her face.

She eased her hand away from his, wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "I married Callum MacInnis."

"Oh." He absorbed the information as if absorbing a blow, then looked back up, puzzled. "But he's nae wi' you now."

"No. No' since I found out I was sharin' a husband wi' two other wives."

Deathly silence, only a tightening of his jaw and a narrowing of his eyes betraying strong emotion. Then, "Is Callum still livin' in Marlor?"

"So far as I know."

"An' are ye fine wi' tha', or do ye want him restin' six feet under Odhran's land?" The golden-brown eyes blazed, though his voice remained so quiet and even that, for a moment, Ailidh had thought she'd misunderstood him.

"Sweet Jesú!" Wide-eyed as she suddenly realized he wasn't joking, she cast a quick glance around the Gallery and at the Hall below to make sure no one else had wandered into earshot. "_No_, Jass!" She gave an incredulous laugh. "I swear, if every Transha man is as fierce as you an' Dhugal when ye're in a temper, it's a wonder yer enemies dinnae all piss themselves when they see ye makin' for them across a battlefield!" She raked unsteady fingers through her auburn curls. "Stand down, Jass; Geillis's already seen tae Callum."

"Who's Geillis?"

"Callum's first wife. She gelded him."

Jass raised an eyebrow, considering the punishment. Finally, his anger subsiding, he took a deep breath and let it back out. "Well. As my mother always said, if ye want a job done right, leave it tae th' womenfolk." He stood, walking to the edge of the Gallery railing to look down at the Great Hall below for a few moments, then slowly turned, leaning against it to look back at Ailidh. "So. Ye've had one man make vows tae ye already an' break 'em, and now ye're in love wi' my liegelord." He sighed. "Well, I never expected anythin' having tae do wi' Ailidh nic Ardry would go easy, so I shouldnae be surprised tha' goes for courtin' as well."

She stared back at him. "Jass, why in heaven's name would ye want me?"

A smile, not quite reaching the sadness in his eyes. "Because I might not hae been in love wi' that little lass ye once were—ye were over young yet—but I always loved yer spirit an' yer sass. And seein' ye again now, here in Rhemuth, a woman grown..." He chuckled. "It fills a place I never realized before had gone empty. I want tae hear ye laugh again like ye used tae do, and _still _do sometimes. I want tae see yer face light up like sunshine when ye smile, and put that spring back in yer step." He looked away. "I'm a man, Ailidh. I want more than all that, but you're no' ready, so I'll nae push ye. I'll settle for seein' ye smile." He glanced back at her. "May I at least _try _for yer smiles?"

"Jass..." A weak, resigned laugh. "Aye, ye can try." She shook her head. "I dinnae suppose there'd be any stoppin' ye."

"No' really. I'm as stubborn as th' next Border man."

She sighed. "I'd best be getting back, 'Cousin' Jass."

"Aye." He offered her his arm. "I think I've figured out our exact relationship, by th' way."

"Oh?"

"Yer my brother's wife's second cousin's nephew's mule-tender's godmother's daughter twice removed. O' _course_ I'm fit tae chaperone ye."

Her burst of laughter rang throughout the gallery.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Sophie stopped by the de Varnay apartments after walking Celsie back from early Mass. Their belongings were mostly packed, several servants already beginning to bring the baggage down to load up the horses and the carriage that would be conveying Sophie's family back to Kestrel Mote.

"Are you certain you don't want to wait a little longer, Father? The snow is still rather heavy out there."

"I know it is, sweeting, but it's a fair sunny day with only a light chill in the air for the season, and you know it's only apt to get worse for a while rather than better if we linger too much longer. And besides, the farther south we go, the less bothersome the snows and ice will be." Sir Ranulf kissed his daughter's forehead. "I won't try to rush the trip—Alienora's condition wouldn't let me, at any rate—and if it looks like the weather is going to turn again, there are several places along the route where we can hole up for a few days. We'll be fine. "

Sophie frowned as a sudden thought occurred to her. "Father, when is the baby due?"

Sir Ranulf sighed, looking away briefly as if doing a quick count of months in his head. "Late summer, we think. Perhaps early August."

She looked around, making sure Alienora was nowhere within earshot, then whispered anyway. "Does she know yet? What we are, I mean?"

Her father's eyes were shadowed with guilt and fear. "No, sweeting. I don't dare tell her. We'll just have to make sure she never finds out."

The enormity of the secret threatened to overwhelm Sophie for a moment, but she forced herself to shake off the dread. It was, after all, her father's secret to disclose or keep, not hers.

No, not entirely true, she realized after a moment. For if she were to make her own Deryni heritage known now, Alienora would at least suspect her father's.

Sophie closed her eyes, feeling hopelessly ensnared in the de Varnay web of secrets.

#

"All right then, we're off. Oh, by the way, Sophronia, I've made arrangements with one of the seamstresses to fit you with a couple of new gowns that are certain to catch and keep the King's eyes. After all," she added with an approving gleam brightening her calculating eyes for once, "he _did_ dance with you on Twelfth Night, so at least we know he's noticed you now. He'd have to be blind not to notice you again once you're in _these _gowns."

Sophie eyed her stepmonster in trepidation, wondering what the woman had ordered for her. If anything, Alienora's infrequent kindnesses could be more frightening than her usual scorn.

"Just remember, for heaven's sake, to keep your legs together! A royal mistress might gain a few baubles, but _you're_ aiming for a crown. Just make him want you badly enough, and he'll wed you for the privilege."

It took considerable effort for Sophie not to slap her. Did Alienora truly think her a common lightskirt, that she'd need advice about _that? _ Not that she actually _was_ aiming for a crown, but even if she were, she'd never even consider stooping to so base a level to gain one!

Stefan returned with the last of the baggage carriers, sparing Sophie the necessity of figuring out a suitable reply. He enveloped her sister in a crushing hug.

"You have the game book?" Sophie asked, her anger forgotten as she gazed up at Stefan with mischief in her eyes.

"Safe and sound," he assured her, patting the front of his doublet. "Just you wait until you get it back; your Queen Verliece won't know what's hit her!" He grinned. "So, your beautiful housemates aren't coming to kiss me farewell?"

Sophie laughed. "Only in your dreams, Stefan."

"Well, tell them I'm sorry to have missed them."

"I shall. I'm sure they'd have come down, only…." Sophie briefly wondered how to explain their absence. "They're both still recovering from Twelfth Night," she finally said. It was true enough, after a manner of speaking. Celsie's mishap _had _happened on Twelfth Night, and as for Ailidh—well, Sophie wasn't sure what was ailing her, but she suspected Ailidh's headache might have stemmed from too much celebrating with the Transha folk and whatever potent libations they might have been passing around that night. Though she'd seemed sober enough the night before….

Sir Ranulf approached, breaking off Sophie's line of thought. "Come, give your father a hug as well. You'll see Stefan again soon enough; I'll be sending him back to Rhemuth for a short while after the snows thaw."

"Truly?" Sophie's eyes shone with delight as she threw herself into her father's arms for a farewell embrace.

"Yes." His eyes sought Stefan's, who returned his look with a wry smile. "It's time your brother found himself a bride, and it would be easier for him to find someone suitable here at Court."

_But do you _want_ to marry yet?_ Sophie asked Stefan. He'd never shown any signs of being ready to settle down, as far as she'd ever seen.

A silent mind-chuckle. _I promised I'd _look;_ I never promised I'd bring one back. Unless, of course, you happen to know any fabulously wealthy women of astonishing beauty who are just dying to become the future Lady of Kestrel Mote._

_ Right. I'll have to get back to you on that._ Sophie kept herself from rolling her eyes at him, but just barely.

"And that reminds me, dearest," her father continued. "Your young man and I had a nice talk after you retired for the evening. So, in case you were concerned I might not accept him as a suitor, don't worry about that. I quite approve of your Arilan."

Sophie looked startled. "Well...I'm very glad you like him, Father, but he's really not _my_ Arilan!" She laughed self-consciously. "Truly, we've only just started getting to know each other."

Sir Ranulf smiled. "I see. Well, take your time about it, if you feel you absolutely must. But I rather suspect he _is _going to end up being your Arilan, even if _you_ haven't figured it out yet." Pitching his voice a bit lower so that Alienora couldn't overhear, he added, "Your mother was much the same way—cautious little thing!-but fortunately I was able to win her over_ before_ King Donal gave her to me and made courtship a moot point. Fortunately you'll be enjoying your own courtship years under better circumstances." He kissed his daughter once more. "Be well, little one."

"Safe travels, Father! Stefan!" She blew kisses up at them both as they mounted their horses before turning to give her stepmother, already safely ensconced in her carriage, a polite wave of farewell.

#

"So, they took their leave this morning?" Sir Seisyll asked later that evening as he and Sophie shared a trencher at the evening meal.

"Yes." Sophie sighed. "I miss them already. Except for Alienora, of course."

Seisyll pushed a choice morsel of wine-braised coney onto her side of the trencher as he listened, his eyes crinkling slightly in amusement at her latter comment. "What, you're not going to miss her bardic-epic beauty, her dulcet voice, her brilliant insights and loving advice?"

Sophie giggled. "Well, I'll grant you the first of those observations, but the rest of the list falls rather short."

"Well, if I won't offend by saying so, as a stepmother so does she." He gave her a sidelong look. "I quite like your father, but when it comes to his wife, all I can think is that he must have picked her from a portrait before ever hearing her speak."

Sophie shrugged. "Stefan says she can act becomingly enough if she chooses; she just rarely does." She picked at her food, one of her concerns taking away her appetite for the moment. She glanced at Seisyll, wondering if she dared trust him with it. Then again, maybe he was one of the few Deryni she knew who would truly understand.

Of course, he was one of the few Deryni she knew, period. But most of the others were at least _somewhat_ less secretive about it…obviously, or else even _she_ wouldn't have known they were Deryni! If not publicly known like Duke Alaric, at least they were open about it within their own close circle of friends. Seisyll's family, she'd discovered, were nearly as secretive as hers about their heritage, though at least Sophie could understand the reasons why Seisyll hadn't made it public yet. His Uncle Denis's ecclesiastical career might yet suffer, even in this more tolerant age that was dawning, if the Arilans' Deryni bloodline were to become public.

She decided to take the risk. _Seisyll, I'm worried about the baby._

He gave her a questioning look. She sensed that he was wondering not only about the cause for her concern, but also why she was using mind-speech rather than just regular speech. She so rarely used her powers around him, even though he knew her secret, because long years of trying to keep them secret had created a habit that was hard to break. It was different with her sisters in training, somehow. Maybe it was just because _they_ weren't knights in Kelson's service.

_What's wrong? Was your stepmother showing signs of miscarrying?_

_ No. _Sophie steeled herself. _But…you remember I told you she has no idea the rest of us are Deryni, right?"_

Seisyll gave a non-verbal 'sound' of agreement via mind-speech.

_Her maiden name was de Nore. Have you heard of the family?_

Seisyll gave her a startled look and a slightly raised eyebrow. _Your father married a de Nore?_ He mused on that a long while. _By all that's holy, why?!_

Precisely what Sophie had always wondered. She sent him Sir Ranulf's usual list of—to her own thinking—wholly inadequate reasons, along with Stefan's more candid, if also somewhat more catty, speculations.

_Well, seems to me if your father mainly married her to keep your family's secret safe, he's taken quite a bit of risk for a very low hope of return_. _I don't care how much Denis needs for mine to remain under wraps, there's no way I'd—" _He broke off suddenly, blue-violet eyes brimming with mirth. _I think I'd find another solution._

_ That's _not_ what you were originally going to say._ Sophie arched a brow at him.

A silent burst of laughter. _True enough, but trust me, you don't want to hear my original thought. At any rate, getting back to the baby, she's not likely to find out unless someone tells her. We're not born with a glowing 'D' on our foreheads or anything. _

_ But what about when the baby is old enough to discover his—or her—own powers?_

_ Well, _if_ that happens—and it's not a given, remember—he'll also be old enough to understand he mustn't use them around his mother. I'm sure your father will make very certain that won't happen when the time comes._

_ I suppose you're right._ Sophie finished picking at her coney and took a sip of her wine. _And what was it you were going to say about what you wouldn't do no matter what your Uncle Denis might need?_

The silent laughter again. _You're not going to let that go, are you? _He slanted a look at her. _It wasn't very appropriate._ He nodded to the young page who had appeared with a ewer and basin, motioning to him to serve Sophie in the hand-washing before serving him. _I deliberately changed what I was about to say because I didn't want to shock you._

A quiet snort of laughter as Sophie dried her hands on the towel draped over the page's arm. _Have you forgotten I'm Stefan's sister? He delights in trying to be shocking every other day and twice on Sundays! I'm quite impervious._

Seisyll grinned. _All right. I was just thinking nothing could force me to wed a woman I'd have to gag just so I could bring myself to bed her. Takes half the fun out._ He stood and offered her a hand up, laughing silently as she stared up at him, wide-eyed. _You _did _ask, my 'impervious' little maiden!_

#

A couple of days passed, days in which Sophie found herself increasingly concerned about both of her housemates. Celsie, after the initial shock of her magical mishap had passed, had rallied enough to allow herself a few extremely basic use of her powers such as mind-speech, but was clearly hesitant to try anything beyond those during their daily lessons, even under Constanza's supervision and patient training, much to the quiet frustration of all, although Sophie could certainly sympathize with Celsie's feelings. Constanza also seemed quieter than usual, and a bit out of sorts, which Sophie guessed might have been at least in part due to the invisible wall that had seemed to spring up between her and Celsie. And from Celsie's weeping ramblings on Twelfth Night, Sophie was fairly sure she could divine the cause for _that_, too, although she didn't know if the rumored dalliance between Constanza and Derry was based in actual fact or simply a figment of Lord Derry's temporary magic-induced madness. Thinking back on the night she'd seen Constanza slip out via the secret passage, though, she realized it was probably true. If so…. Sophie felt a twinge of pity for her godmother. While she didn't approve of the liaison, Sophie could imagine that having her secret disclosed, and in such a way, must have been devastating for Constanza, for whom maintaining an impeccable reputation meant so much both personally and in terms of maintaining her high standing in Rhemuth society. Sophie sincerely hoped no one besides Celsie and Constanza had overheard Derry's dazed ramblings that night in the Great Hall.

As for Ailidh, Sophie had no idea what was bothering the girl, though something clearly was. She tried to think back to Twelfth Night for an explanation, but all had seemed fine that evening…no, wait, there had been those few disquieting moments when Ailidh had seemed to be bothered by something, but those moods had passed quickly, and in the flurry of activity Sophie hadn't had a quiet moment to ask her about them. But then they'd returned to their quarters only to find Celsie in floods of tears, and by the time that whole sad situation had been sorted out and settled, Sophie had fallen into an exhausted sleep. By the next day, it became clear to her that something had affected Ailidh just as badly that night, but Ailidh seemed reluctant to share it, whatever it was.

She wished she could help both of her sisters, but she truly didn't know how. Sophie wandered down to the Royal Library, hoping Father Nivard was there and that he might have some insights that could help Sophie figure out what to do, but the door was locked and Father Nivard nowhere to be found. She briefly thought about trying the Basilica next; even if Father Nivard wasn't there, Bishop Duncan might be. But no, on second thought, something about the handsome bishop's steady blue gaze and empathetic smile sometimes tended to give her an unsettled feeling, like she'd swallowed live butterflies, and the thought that she might accidentally let any inkling of that very odd reaction slip through her shields was more than a little mortifying. No, not the Basilica, then.

She was on her way back upstairs to her quarters when a squire in Haldane livery stopped her at the end of her apartment's access corridor. "Lady Sophie de Varnay?" he inquired.

"Yes?" Sophie looked at the boy, curious as to why a squire in royal livery was seeking her out, then she realized he had probably just been sent up to deliver a letter brought in by one of the Royal Post couriers. "Did you have a missive for me?"

"Not exactly, my Lady. The King requests your immediate attendance. I'm to bring you to him."

Sophie stared. "King Kelson?" Her mind whirled with questions but could supply no answers for why he might summon her. "Of course, but if you'll permit, I need to let my chaperone know where I'm going."

"Contessa Constanza has already been informed. You'll find her with the King. This way, my Lady."

She followed him down the corridor, feeling like she would burst with curiosity. Finally she dared ask, "Do _you_ know what the matter is concerning?"

An apologetic smile. "No, I'm afraid not, My Lady. I was just sent to fetch both you and the Contessa straightaway. We're almost there, though." They went up another flight of stairs and around a corner until they reached a set of guarded doors. The guard gave her a low bow and waved them in.

#

Sophie entered the King's private withdrawing room to find both Kelson and the Contessa looking back at her with solemn expressions, the latter looking quite shaken. Another man was there as well, one whom Sophie dimly recognized, after a moment's study, as her father's liege lord, Michael, Earl of Carthane. The King pointed out an empty chair. "Please sit, Lady Sophie."

She did so, starting to tremble as her instincts told her that she was about to receive news she didn't want to hear. "You called for me, Sire?"

"I did. I'm afraid I have bad news for you, my lady." The gray eyes fixed upon her were sympathetic. "There's been an accident."


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Sophie turned pale. "What happened, Your Majesty?" Beside her, the Contessa reached a comforting hand to clasp hers.

Kelson studied the girl before him, trying to decide the best way to break the news he'd received earlier in the day. He'd only met Lady Sophie a few times, but she'd never struck him as the swooning or overwrought sort. Still, these sort of tidings would be a shock to even the strongest of young women. He knew; he too had experienced this sort of life-changing event at an even younger age.

He decided, in the end, just to give it to her straight, though as gently as he could manage. "Lady Sophie, yesterday sometime in the early evening, your family's entourage was set upon by brigands just a few miles northwest of Nyford. I regret to inform you that there were several casualties."

She stared at him with stricken eyes, her hand convulsively clutching at the Contessa's. "I see." She swallowed. "My family?"

"Your stepmother is alive, just badly shaken and with some minor injuries. Her carriage fell onto its side during the attack, but landed with the door facing downwards, so she was trapped within until rescue arrived. Your brother also lives still, but he's badly injured, and his condition is quite grave. I'm given to understand that if he can make it through the next couple of days, his chances of survival should improve. Both are convalescing at a convent infirmary just north of Nyford." He waited for her to absorb that blow before continuing. "I'm afraid Sir Ranulf didn't survive the attack."

Her hazel eyes didn't waver from his. They filled with tears, but she lifted her chin, blinking them back. "Did—what of the rest of their entourage? And were the brigands captured?"

Kelson glanced down at the message he held. "Several others of your household were injured, some seriously, but your father's groom was the only other casualty from Kestrel Mote. The other parties traveling to Nyford with your family suffered similarly. Of the twenty travelers, there were five deaths in all, I believe. As for the brigands..." Kelson's lips tightened. "Some were slain in the fray, but a few escaped. I assure you they are being hotly pursued, and just a few minutes ago a special courier brought word that at least one more has been brought to justice."

She nodded, pressing her lips tightly together for a few moments before glancing uncertainly at her godmother, then back at him. "And what is to become of me now, Sire? I suppose, If my brother's condition is still uncertain, I am to be under someone's wardship, at least until he..." Her voice broke, and she waited a moment before continuing. "_If _he recovers?"

"Yes. We're hoping for the best, of course, and hopefully Sir Stefan will be able to take up his new responsibilities as Lord of Kestrel Mote in due course. But for now, you and your family's lands are in the keeping of the Earl of Carthane." Kelson glanced at the Earl, sitting quietly off to one side. "Have you met your father's liege lord, Lady Sophie?"

She nodded, glancing over at Earl Michael. "Yes, Sire. A few times, but...It's been some while back."

Carthane smiled sympathetically at his new ward. "I'm very sorry to renew our acquaintance under such circumstances, Lady Sophie. Your father was a good man. I was quite sorry—not to mention outraged—to receive the news about his death and the manner of it. I assure you I'll do all within my power to bring the villains to justice."

"Thank you, my Lord." For the first time, the tears in her eyes threatened to spill over. "Are you—Will I have to leave Rhemuth?" The hand clutching the Contessa's turned white around the knuckles. Her patroness stood, closing the gap between them with a step and dropping to her knees to hold the shaking girl close.

Kelson glanced at Earl Michael, then back at Sophie. "No. Or at least, not in the immediate future. I understand that the Contessa is your godmother and that your late mother had made previous arrangements to have her see to your education. I see no reason to disrupt those arrangements. Earl Michael will assume responsibility for Kestrel Mote for the time being. And while you're in Rhemuth, you'll be under my legal wardship as well, though of course you would still remain in your godmother's keeping."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sophie whispered. She glanced at Constanza, then back at Kelson. "Is Stefan stable enough to bring here to Rhemuth, or might I be allowed to go to him?"

Kelson's gaze moved to the Earl, who answered for him. "From the reports I've received, I think it best that we don't try to move Sir Stefan just yet, although that might be a possibility later if he makes it through this critical period. As for traveling there just now…." He shook his head. "I wouldn't advise it. Not just because we've not rounded up all the brigands yet; the skies in the area indicate another threat of snow. Perhaps in a few days."

The King nodded his agreement. "I'm truly sorry, Lady Sophie," Kelson said. "Not just yet, though I give you my word you'll be permitted to see your brother at the earliest opportunity that's safe for both of you."

She nodded, eyes downcast. "Thank you."

#

Once they'd been dismissed from the Royal presence, Constanza took her grieving goddaughter back down to their apartment. Sophie was quiet during the walk back, occasionally blinking away tears, but otherwise fairly composed given the circumstances. Still, the Contessa suspected that a wellspring of turbulent emotion lay just beneath shields gone rock solid.

"If you'd like to go to bed and just weep it all out, dear, I'll leave you undisturbed. Sometimes it's best to just let it all out."

Sophie shook her head dully. "I can't yet. I have letters to write. Our steward..."

"I'm sure he must have gotten word by now. Let the Earl of Carthane deal with that. You'll have plenty of time later to handle the administrative matters at Kestrel Mote, if you must. Just let it rest for the moment."

Sophie bowed her head. "I forgot to tell Father I loved him, Stanzi. I just said..." She swallowed hard. "I told them, 'Safe travels.'" Her voice was bitter.

Constanza took the grieving girl into her arms, holding her close. "It's all right, dear. He knew."

#

"Ivo, is Sir Seisyll Arilan on guard duty this afternoon?"

"I believe so, Your Majesty," Kelson's squire answered promptly. "I think I saw him arrive just before the changing of the guard. I could check, Sire."

"Yes, please do. And once you locate him, please let him know I need a few minutes of his time."

"Yes, my prince." Ivo bowed and departed. A few minutes later, he returned, ushering Sir Seisyll into Kelson's private apartment.

"Thank you, Ivo. That will be all." Kelson waited for his squire to withdraw before looking up from the stack of documents occupying his attention. Sir Seisyll stood attentively just inside the entrance, his eyes alight with restrained curiosity,

"Have a seat, Seisyll."

Arilan did so. Kelson suppressed a smile as the slightly older knight took a particular chair in the corner that Kelson had previously noticed he seemed to prefer above all others. "Like that chair, do you?" Kelson teased.

"You know I do, Sire. It would fit in quite nicely at Tre-Arilan. How much are you selling it to me for again?" An amused twinkle in the blue-violet eyes.

Kelson leaned back in his own chair with a grin. "I'm not. I'm afraid you'll just have to settle for visiting it whenever you bring me one of your special reports." The King sobered abruptly, leaning forward once more. "I'm afraid it's a report from a different source that has me calling you in here today, however, but before I give you the details, I need to ask you something. And I apologize, but my question is of a somewhat personal nature."

Seisyll raised a dark brow. "Yes, my prince?"

Kelson folded his hands above the report on his desk. "I noticed during the Christmas holidays, you seemed to be favoring Lady Sophie de Varnay above all others as a dance partner." A hint of amusement in the gray eyes. "To the point that I had a bit of difficulty securing a dance with her myself at Twelfth Night, which is rather the opposite of my usual predicament." He studied his knight for a moment, then continued. "I hate to pry into your private life, Seisyll, because I know you prefer to keep yours nearly as guarded as that bloody-minded uncle of yours does. But I need to know, what is the nature of your relationship with Lady Sophie?"

Arilan's eyes turned wary, but he answered his King honestly. "At this point? Friendship only, though I've received permission from her father to court her, and I've been working at winning her over. Unless..." A slight tightening of his features was the only sign of emotion; nothing leaked through Arilan's diamond-hard shields. "Does Your Majesty have a special interest in the lady?"

"Yes, though nothing that would stand in the way of your suit." Kelson sighed. "She's become my ward."

Arilan glanced away briefly. Kelson could see in his eyes that his mind was working through the implications. "Yours, Sire? Not Carthane's?"

"Both, actually." Kelson picked up the report he'd received earlier from Nyford, handing it to Sir Seisyll. "Michael will be handling the administrative details for Kestrel Mote, but until Lady Sophie chooses to return there, I'll be acting as her legal guardian during her stay here in Rhemuth."

Arilan, reaching for the report, looked up sharply at that. "Then Sir Stefan's been killed as well?"

"Incapacitated, his chances of survival still unknown at this point." Kelson stood, walking towards a window and gazing out at the landscape beyond. "It's all in the report." He was silent for a while, allowing his agent a chance to read and absorb the information he'd just been handed, then asked, "If Lady Sophie were to come to you without dowry, would that make a difference in your interest in her?"

"None," was Seisyll's prompt answer, though he frowned slightly as Kelson turned to look at him. "But is she left so badly off?"

"I don't know yet. But Kestrel Mote is an old manor, in need of repairs, and Carthane tells me that Sir Ranulf's fortunes suffered a bad couple of years not so long ago. A crop blight, I believe. His recent remarriage helped in recouping some of his losses, but of course with Sir Ranulf dead, his widow's dower money returns to her, so even if Sir Stefan recovers, he won't be able to count on his stepmother's inheritance money to help finance the manor's repairs. Not unless she's the generous sort."

Seisyll raised an eyebrow and snorted. "I wouldn't count on that, unless she thinks she stands to profit well from the investment. I've met the woman." He handed the report back to the King. "I'm willing to wed Sophie, dowry or no, and without delay if she's truly in need of support. But if possible, I'd rather have time to court her properly. She's...on the shy side."

"But she's agreeable to your courtship?" Kelson asked.

Seisyll gave a short laugh. "It's probably more accurate to say that she's agreeable to allowing me to become her friend. She seems to shy away from the thought of courtship in general. I think-" He broke off, his expression suddenly sad. "I think she just wasn't ready to grow up quite yet." He looked up, meeting Kelson's eyes, which filled with understanding.

"Yes. Losing a father is a rough way to grow up, isn't it?" Kelson said.

Seisyll, remembering the loss of his own father, nodded, his lips tightening. "I'll look out for her as much as she'll allow. I'd really rather not force my suit on her, though."

"I don't intend to force her into marriage if she's not ready or willing." The King took a deep breath, letting it out explosively. "God knows_ I _know what _that_ feels like!"

His agent nodded. "Thank you for that." He glanced at the report Kelson had returned to his desk, then back up at him. "Now, how else can I help?"

Kelson shook his head. "No, I'm not sending you to Nyford; at least, not just yet. I suspect the lady has greater need of you here. Just keep an eye on things, as you always do." The King gave his agent a wry smile. "And let me know if she happens to be in need of anything in particular." He turned back to his paperwork, silently indicating the audience was over.

Sir Seisyll stood. "Yes, my prince." He saw himself out.

#

"How is she?" Sir Seisyll stood at the apartment door, talking to the Contessa.

"Still asleep," Stanzi informed him. "I'm afraid she might not be feeling up to receiving visitors tonight."

"I'm not worried about that. Let her rest." He sighed. "Would you send me a message, though, when she _is_ ready?"

Her godmother, seeing the concern in his eyes, nodded. "I shall. When she's feeling more up to it."

The knight bowed. "That's all I ask. Thank you, my Lady."

#

Late that night Sir Seisyll stood in his own chambers a long while, staring out the window, lost in thought. So Kelson didn't wish him to pursue the matter in Nyford in person. That was fine; he was the King's man and would, of course, obey.

He'd never said, however, that Seisyll couldn't send someone else to investigate the matter.

Reaching into an old pouch, he pulled out a round amber-colored sphere the size of a robin's egg. Taking a seat, he focused on the shiral until all else faded away save for its shining depths, and then he called to mind the face of another Arilan.

Not, of course, his Uncle. Denis was doubtless busy with matters of his own. Instead, he called up his younger brother Sextus, by this time most likely asleep at Tre-Arilan.

_Good evening, brother, _he said to the image appearing in the shiral. _ I'm sorry to interrupt your slumber like this, but there's a matter I need looked into in the vicinity of Nyford, if you can make your way there at your earliest convenience..._


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

An hour and a half after midnight. The sacristy at Nyford Cathedral was shrouded in darkness as the raven-haired lad silently appeared inside the deserted room. He cast a quick look around, blue-violet eyes wary, then relaxed as it became clear no one was around to notice his arrival.

Still, the circumstances warranted the utmost caution. He pulled stealth around him like a concealing cloak, using his innate powers to help enhance his less arcane training, slipping silently through the Cathedral and out a side door towards a nearby inn where an old acquaintance always kept a horse available and at his disposal.

A quick whispered conference with the stable's groom, followed by an exchange of coin, and the youngest of the Lords Arilan made his way northward towards a certain monastic infirmary only a few short miles distant.

#

"So, what's to become of Sophie now?" Jass MacArdry asked the following morning as he guided Ailidh and Celsie through the streets of Rhemuth. "Whoops! Mind your step there, Celsie lass; you've just missed a patch of mud."

"We don't know yet," Ailidh answered, "except that she's to be allowed to stay on with us for now. Her brother's still alive, but no one knows for sure yet if he's going to pull through or not. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see." She gave her 'cousin' a sidelong look as he helped Celsie to a drier section of roadway, suppressing a smile. Sir Jass was being all courtly knight today in Celsie's presence, his customary Borderer accent all but absent aside from the faintest of brogues and the occasional distinctively Borderer turn of phrase. Seeing him with his Rhemuth manners on full display still struck her as exceedingly odd.

"I imagine she's not up for a day out yet, poor lass," Jass mused as they drew closer to the draper's shop that was their destination.

"I don't know; I think Sophie might have wanted to come with us, if only to take her mind off things for a little bit, but she's being fitted for her mourning gowns today," Celsie said, paying closer attention to her footing on the damp cobblestones.

"All right, almost there; it's that third door on the ri—Sweet Jesú!" Jass yanked Ailidh by the arm out of the way of a sudden stream of noxious smelling liquid tossed out of an upper story window, muttering a stream of fluent invective that was most uncourtly, but also unlikely to be understood by anyone born this far south and east. "That didn't hit you, did it, _chuisle_?"

"No, it all missed," Ailidh said after a quick check. "Thank you."

He swiftly maneuvered both ladies away from the line of fire before calling up another stream of rapid-fire words in Border speech, much to Celsie's amusement. From above, a lazy voice drawled out "Sure, whatever,and your mother's been breeding with Border ponies!" The requisite posturing concluded, Jass moved the ladies forward into the shop, which would hopefully be more hazard-free.

Celsie giggled, mindspeaking to Ailidh. _What did Sir Jass say?_

The Border girl's lips twitched. _Well...the first bit's a little hard to translate in polite terms, but he implied some rather scandalous things about the parentage of that man in the upstairs window. Let's just say it involved several reivers and a sheep. And as for the second..._ Ailidh's eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. _ It roughly translates to "May your merchandise burn to ashes and your supply ships sink before they ever reach the shore, while your mother runs up and down the dock barking frantically for help."_

Celsie turned wide blue eyes up at the Border knight and giggled. He returned her look with an amused grin of his own. "Tellin' on me, are you, Ailidh _a chuisle_?" Leaning to whisper to the blonde girl in a voice too low for the approaching shopkeeper to overhear, he added, "Is that one of the hazards of courtin' a Deryni lass? You never know what she's thinkin' to others about you behind your back?" He winked as she gaped at him, then straightened to greet the shopkeeper.

"I'm afraid my wife's not finished with your mother's new gown yet, Sir Jass," the man began, but Jass waved the apology off.

"I'm not here for that today, Master Draper; I've brought you some new custom who wish to have a look at your fine wares."

The shopkeeper gave the two young ladies an appreciative look. "So I see! And what may I help you fine ladies with this day?"

Ailidh moved forward. "We're looking for fabric suitable for Court gowns, but for daily dress only, and in somber colors."

"Somber colors, but suitable for Court? I'll see what I have in stock, but my ladies, with your bright coloring and youthful beauty, surely something on the lighter side would be preferable?"

Celsie shook her head. "I'm afraid it's for mourning wear. Well, semi-mourning at least. One of the ladies in our household has had a death in the family, and while _we're_ not strictly required to wear black, we'd like to be properly respectful."

"Oh! Well, I'm certainly sorry to hear that. Yes, I do think I've got a few selections of fabric that would suit, but I'll need to go to the back to pull them out. I'll be right back."

While they waited, Celsie turned an appraising glance at her house-sister. _So, Sir Jass is courting you? He must not be all _that_ close a cousin, then._ The girl dimpled as she slanted a look at Jass's back while he surveyed the shop's wares. _ Does the Contessa know?_

_ No, and you're not going to tell her, either!_ Ailidh held back a sigh. _Anyway, I've told him I'm off men. He's just too bloody-minded to listen._

_ You're off _that_ man? _Celsie bit her lip to keep from laughing. _Are you _daft_? Did your mother drop you on your head as a baby?_

The shopkeeper returned with several swatches of fine wool, silks, and linens, each in dark hues but with dyes of fine enough quality to make the colors look rich rather than muddy. "For you, sweet little princess, may I suggest the dark sapphire, and for the fiery-haired young Valkyrie, the deep emerald."

"Oh, they're both lovely! Don't you think so, Ailidh?" _He knows you're Deryni, but he's not running for the Transha border yet, _Celsie teased. _I think I'm envious._

"I think we'll take a length of both colors," Ailidh informed the merchant, ignoring her household sister's teasing. "What do you think, Celsie, in silk and wool both?"

"That sounds good. The silk would work for more formal occasions."

The shopkeeper's wife came out, escorting both ladies to a rear room where she took measurements of each to determine how much fabric they would require. After seeing some of her work in progress and hearing her fees, they agreed to engage her services as a seamstress as well. A quick discussion of styles ensued, then both girls returned to the front of the shop, each satisfied that their purchase was in the best of hands.

"I have to admit, Jass," Ailidh said as they were making their way back to Rhemuth Castle, "I thought you'd taken leave of your senses when I saw what part of town you were leading us to. But that shop is quite a find!"

"Aye. Court quality wares, but at a third the usual cost." Jass grinned. "Probably because few courtiers are brave enough to venture out that way. Which reminds me." He fixed each of them with a stern look. "Do not even _think _of goin' back for your purchases without me. And definitely not at any time other than broad daylight. It's a rough section of town for two ladies wanderin' about on your own. Better yet, I may just send a message back askin' to have your gowns delivered."

"We wouldn't go back alone. We're not _entirely_ stupid," Ailidh retorted.

The whiskey-colored eyes twinkled. "Well, that's good. I'm hopin' for bright sons."

Beside them, Celsie suppressed a laugh.

#

"Sophie, dear, you have a visitor."

The young lady in black looked up to see the familiar features of Bishop Duncan McLain smiling down at her, his blue eyes filled with empathy. "I just heard the news about your family, and stopped by to express my deep condolences." He walked over to the window embrasure where she sat, taking the empty seat across from hers. "Father Nivard would've come with me, but a shipment of manuscripts had just arrived. He asked me to let you know that you and your family shall be in his prayers, and that he'll stop by once he can extricate himself from all that dusty old parchment, if you're up to receiving him then."

She gave the bishop a wan smile. "Of course."

He took one of her hands in his. "How are _you _doing?"

She shrugged, her eyes downcast. "It just…doesn't feel quite real, yet."

He nodded. "It might take a while to sink in. A lot of people go through stages—sadness, anger, denial, though the order might vary. It's all quite normal."

Sophie took a deep breath, looked back up to meet his gaze. "I'm scared," she said simply.

"I imagine so. "

Oddly, his quiet understanding, without any added attempt at reassurance or brushing aside her fears, somehow made her feel a bit better.

"How long does it take for the pain to go away?" she asked him.

He looked out the window, pursing his lips in thought, then back at Sophie. "That's difficult to say. I lost my father four and a half years ago, and my mother some years before that. The wounds heal, but…some days are still harder than others." Duncan gave her hand a light squeeze. "But every person's grief is different, and yours will take however long it takes to run its course. You'll have friends beside you, though; that helps."

"Yes."

They sat together for the next half hour, sometimes talking quietly, sometimes in companionable silence. At last the bishop stood to take his leave, bowing over the maiden's hand.

"I have a Mass tomorrow, and then a Council meeting shortly thereafter, but John will probably stop by sometime in the afternoon to check on you. I'm sure he'll be desperately wanting to look at something besides mouldering old tomes by then."

Sophie gave a rueful laugh. "Yes, because a red-eyed girl dressed like a rusty old raven is _so_ far preferable as a change of scenery."

Duncan smiled. "Actually, all symbolic meaning aside, black's an attractive color on you. Maybe I _should _wait until the books are looking better to him again before I send him up here." He chuckled at her dumbstruck expression. "I'm jesting, Sophie."

She gazed out the window, her cheeks warming slightly as the bishop took his leave of the Contessa and then made his way out.

#

Sophie, not feeling quite up to an evening meal in the Great Hall yet, decided on a quieter repast in her own quarters. She sent one of the castle pages to request a meal be brought up. It arrived only a short time later, though instead of the expected kitchen servant, Sir Seisyll stood at the door. She stared, bemused, as he walked past the laughing Contessa with a grin, bearing a large tray.

"Hm. The table in your sitting room is barely large enough to hold all this."

"That's...a little more than I actually ordered," Sophie ventured, giggling.

"Is it? Well, I might have added a few things to tempt your appetite." He handed Constanza the tray, transferring the individual items to the small table instead. "Let's see here...roast venison and frumenty, manchet with herbed butter, carrots in honey, lentils with saffron, creme-filled crepes with rose syrup..." He presented the final item with a flourish. "And a fine wine, raided from the King's own cellars."

Sophie laughed. "I certainly hope you asked him first!"

"Oh, was I supposed to?" The blue-violet eyes smiled down at her.

"Tell me I'm not supposed to eat all that by myself."

"Well, no. I was somewhat hoping you might be generous enough to share. Either that, or you'll need to let out all your gowns. And Celsie and Ailidh will need to roll you off to bed. Speaking of whom..." He glanced around. "Where are they?"

"With Ailidh's cousin Jass, but they should be back soon."

Seisyll pulled out a chair for Constanza, then joined the ladies at their table. "Sir Jass MacArdry?"

"Yes," the chaperone said. "Do you know him?"

"Not well, but we're acquainted. He's one of Duke Dhugal's retainers. Seems like a good man, from what I've seen." He began carving the venison, serving it on finely carved treen platters for the ladies.

"Well, that's good." Constanza frowned slightly. "Still, he's kept my young ladies out quite late. I'm beginning to wonder if anything's amiss."

"Probably not," Seisyll reassured her. "There are some traveling entertainers in the Great Hall tonight; they've probably stopped to watch the show. I can go down and check if you'd like."

"No, you two enjoy your meal; I'll be right back," the Contessa said distractedly, rising and heading out. Sophie watched the door close behind her. She turned an incredulous look at Seisyll, who suppressed a smile.

"Poor Jass!" He spooned some of the frumenty onto Sophie's platter. "So, is he really Ailidh's cousin?"

"She _says_ so," Sophie replied, looking a bit distractedly at the closed door.

"You _do_ realize, I hope, that among the Border folk, 'she's my cousin' can mean anything from 'we share the same grandparents' to 'my father might have once spotted her mother from across the village square'?" Seisyll grinned.

"Umhmmm..." Sophie frowned at the closed door, then slowly turned her attention back towards Seisyll, looking rather bemused.

"It would appear the Contessa has left you in my care, my Lady. So, would you like some lentils and carrots, or shall we just proceed to the ravishment?"

The hazel eyes widened. "Sir Seisyll!"

He laughed. "Stop looking so distressed, Sophie. She'll surely be back directly, probably hauling poor Jass around by an ear."

She giggled at the image that he sent into her mind. "I just can't believe Constanza is so worried about _him_, she's left me all alone up here with _you_!"

"Ah, well, that's easily enough explained. Sir Jass MacArdry, like all his Transha kin, is a rough-around-the-edges Borderer from the land of plundering reivers, ready to haul comely ladies like the beauteous Ailidh and Celsie back to his thieving lair and have his wicked way with them. Whereas I, alas, am but a civilized lowlander knight, not all that dashing or exciting, but in the King's service, not to mention I'm a Bishop's nephew, so obviously your virtue is _quite_ safe."

Sophie slanted a skeptical look at him. "Constanza _really _doesn't know you very well, does she?"

Seisyll smiled slowly. "My Lady, you wound me! Just think of me as you would your brother."

"Oh dear God, hopefully not _that_ bad!"

He laughed.

#

Late that night, in his sleep, Seisyll Arilan received a report from his own brother about hers.

_Sextus looked tired in the dream-vision, but wore a satisfied grin. "I made my way to the infirmary by daybreak. Your friend is still alive, but he's had a head injury and a shattered shield arm. He's also got some nasty gashes, including a fairly deep one in his chest, but it missed his vital organs. No infection seems to have set in, so that's good. The best news is, he recovered consciousness today. Word is, they may be sending him on to Rhemuth soon at the King's request."_

_ "Good job, Sextus. Any word about the brigands yet?"_

_ "Not yet, but I'll check into that once I leave the monastery tomorrow. And I'm not Sextus, by the way. Sextus Arilan was never here; I'm Brother Theophilus of Marbury."_

_ "Even better." Seisyll studied his brother's image. "Where'd you find the cassock?"_

_ Sextus laughed. "It's an old one Denis had in one of the storage trunks. Itches like hell. That's why I chose that name-this is 'the awfulest' outfit I've worn in years! She'd better be worth it, Seisyll."_

_ "What makes you think there's a 'she' involved? Sir Stefan and I trained together, you know."_

_ "Yes. And I also remember that the last time you two met, you nearly gave him a head injury. So, I take it Stefan's sister is quite comely?"_

_ The sleeping Seisyll laughed. "Quite. _And_ she Kelson's ward, at least until her brother fully recovers, so get your mind out of the gutter. It's honorable courtship I'm after."_

_ A dark brow, so like his own, rose. "I look forward to meeting her, then."_


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Oh dear, this _can't_ be right!"

Sophie read the report sent to her by a courier from the Earl of Carthane's court with growing horror.

"_What_ can't be right?" Celsie asked, craning her neck to examine a page her house-sister had set down on the table.

"This report from the Earl's assessment of Kestrel Mote's finances! If this is correct, Stefan and I are practically penniless!"

Ailidh set down her mending and moved to sit closer to Sophie at the table. "Let's have a look," she said, reaching for the pages Sophie had already perused and set aside. "You _can't_ be penniless, or you'd not be here. Your father's sent you to Court for a noblewoman's polishing; that requires a certain amount of maintenance money just for basic upkeep, even if you're not extravagant with it—which you _haven't _been. I've sure he's got funds for you set aside somewhere."

"No, you don't understand. That was Alienora's money. With my father's death, it all went back to her. Why would she want to spend it on Kestrel Mote, or share any of it with me or with Stefan? We're not blood-kin."

Ailidh's gray-green eyes looked up from the pages, understanding suddenly dawning. "Oh."

"So, how bad is it?" Celsie asked, concern reflected in her summer sky eyes. "I imagine there's a little reserve left to get you through to next harvest, at least…isn't there? You might have to cut expenses a bit, only spend money on absolute necessities until the crop revenues come in and the tithe's been paid…."

Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Sweet Jesú, and to think I harped on Father so much for marrying that shrew! _This_ must have been a large part of the reason why."

Celsie sighed. "All right, let's think. Your father married your stepmonster, what, two years ago?"

"Yes. Well, a little closer to three years now, but not too far back."

"So, she had her dower, which of course she's got back now, but there would've been a bit of dowry as well that would have been Sir Ranulf's—or, in this case, his family's—to keep, no matter what. Is there any of _that_ left?"

Sophie double-checked a page of the report and shook her head. "Apparently not. Most went back into the estate in the form of manor repairs, and a bit went into purchasing more seed to start over after we lost most of our harvest two years in a row due to crop blight. And of course Stefan was knighted not long before Father remarried; _that_ raised certain expenses that had to be recouped somehow. Not to mention his own Court education…." She shoved the papers away from her, burying her head in her crossed arms. "None of it's been frittered away, but still…it's just _gone_!"

Celsie, reading over Ailidh's shoulder, nodded. "I think I see what your father was intending to do. If he'd stuck to his plan, I think Kestrel Mote would've been completely in the clear again in just a couple more years, and then assuming no more bad harvests or other catastrophes for a while, your estate would be restored and making a profit again. Some of that could've been set aside into an emergency fund for the next crisis to come along, and then once _that_ was taken care of, he'd have no more need to rely on Alienora's dower. She'd still have enough left over for her own basic needs after he was gone, assuming he'd continued in good health for several more years, and Kestrel Mote and his heirs' needs would also be taken care of. You see here, and here," she said, pointing out the relevant categories, "he was starting to set aside a little bit for that. But he hadn't counted on dying so soon, and you and Stefan not having Alienora's inheritance money to work with." She gazed into the distance, lost in thought. "Of course, for this plan to have worked, Alienora would've had to have gone along with it, but from _her_ end of things, he was pouring the money into providing a better home for her. With him leaving her a widow, though, it's no longer her home, unless of course you _invite_ her to stay, so she has no vested interest in improving it anymore."

"Or in maintaining two stepchildren she never wanted anyway." Sophie sat up again with a sigh. "Well, I'll invite her, if Stefan isn't able to—with her carrying Father's child, I'd feel honor-bound to anyway—but I doubt she'll want to stay. Not unless Stefan dies, she has a son, and I decide never to return home, at any rate. She'd want to be mistress of her own demesne." She snorted. "Now she might see _that_ as a good return on her investment—spending money to keep me here in Rhemuth so she can keep Kestrel Mote all to herself. But I doubt it." She shook her head sadly. "She's never really had much good to say about the estate, aside from it being close enough to her own lands to make family visits convenient."

"Oh, I'm sure those were fun!" Aildh muttered. "Hello, de Nore step-things! Do come in, have a sit-down, would you like some sherry? And do ignore that shiral in the corner nook; it's not the evidence of our eternal damnation you're looking for..."

Sophie burst into a reluctant laugh. "Oh, I think _not_! Father would've had kittens if we'd had anything around to link us to the dreaded Deryni!" She sobered. "I've got to convince her to stay, though. Not only because of the finances; there's the baby to consider."

"I hate to say this, but...can't you insist the baby stay at Kestrel Mote, even if Alienora decides to leave?" Celsie bit her lip, looking like she hated the thought but felt she had to bring it up anyway. "I know it sounds a bit heartless, but the baby_ is_ a de Varnay, so legally any child of your father's would belong to _his_ blood-kin, not to her and hers. Especially if it turns out to be a son and, God forbid, if Stefan doesn't recover. He'd be the sole de Varnay heir, in that case. And would you want the heir to a Deryni house being raised by the de Nores?"

"Then again, trying to take the baby away from his mother would start up a battle royale with House de Nore, now wouldn't it? Especially if you couldn't go into the real reason why. Or...maybe especially if you _did_!" Ailidh looked a bit sick at the thought. "They may not be as powerful as they once were, but they've still got a lot more wealth and clout than House de Varnay."

"Oh God, I can't think of all this right now!" Sophie said, burying her head in her arms again.

A knock sounded at the door, a welcome interruption to the distressed girl's ears. Ailidh went to see who it was.

"Two gowns for delivery, m'lady. Where would you like them?"

"Our gowns?" Celsie looked at Ailidh, astonished. "But we just ordered them yesterday!"

Sophie stood, a wary look crossing her features. "Wait…I think those might be mine. Are they for Sophie de Varnay?"

"Yes, m'lady! For Lady Sophie de Varnay from Lady Alienora de Varney. These be the ones, m'lady!"

Ailidh held her arms out for the wrapped bundles. Celsie fumbled in her belt pouch for a coin, pressing it into the delivery maid's hand for her service before Sophie could find one of her own to give her. The maid curtseyed her thanks and left.

"Shall we see what she ordered for you?" Celsie said, eyes alight.

Sophie took a deep breath. "All right. Let's see what Alienora thinks would catch the eye of a King." She rolled her eyes, setting off a peal of giggles from Celsie.

Ailidh unwrapped the first bundle, unfolding the plain linen wrap to reveal a flash of iridescent blues, greens, and gold. "Well, the colors are pretty enou—Oh dear merciful…!" She burst into loud laughter as she shook the dress open, holding it up before her to show it off.

Celsie's mouth took on the shape of a large O. "Oh sweet heaven…. Is that meant to be a bodice or just a wide belt? And…are those _feathers_?"

Sophie stared in dismay. "She has _got_ to be joking!" She studied the lines of the gown Ailidh held. At first glance, the style of the dress appeared appropriate enough, cut in the latest Bremagni fashion that was just starting to catch on at the Court of Rhemuth. It wasn't until one looked closer that one saw how low cut this particular gown was compared to others of similar style, not to mention that the materials used to create it were far more extravagant that was seemly for a young lady of Sophie's humble rank and station. "Are those…peacock feathers sewn into the skirt? And…all those glittery bits….that's gold-wrapped silk, isn't it?"

"Aye, it looks to be. And I think she's aiming to hire you out as a wet nurse. You'll hardly even have to unlace!" Ailidh's laughter started up again.

"It's really not funny!" Sophie gaped at the dress a bit longer, then finally gave in to her own sense of the ridiculous. "All right, maybe it _is_ in a way, but sweet Jesu, I can't possibly wear _that_!"

Another knock sounded, startling them all. This time Celsie went to answer, opening the door to reveal Sir Seisyll standing in the corridor.

"Good afternoon, ladies! I was wondering if the three of you would care for a—" He stopped, staring nonplussed at the gown Ailidh held. "Is that…ah…the latest in ladies' fashion?"

Celsie's giggles started up again. "That's Alienora's idea of a parting gift to her dear stepdaughter. One of them anyway. It's meant to be a Kelson-catcher gown."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Celsie, would you shut the door already!" Sophie whispered, mortified.

Seisyll's eyes met Sophie's as he stepped further into the room so Celsie could do so, then slid back to the dress. He sheltered a grin behind one hand, although it did nothing to mask the wicked laughter in his eyes.

"_Is_ it, now? Well, I can see how it might…um…showcase certain attractions, and it's certainly…er…_eyecatching_, but I think it's more likely to send Kelson running out of the room ululating at high pitch, personally." He glanced down at the second bundle, half-forgotten on the floor. "Is that the other Kelson-catcher?"

Sophie buried her eyes in her hand, her mortification complete. "Go ahead," she said finally, looking back up at Ailidh. "Let's see it."

Ailidh lay the first gown across a nearby chair and unfolded the second bundle, shaking out the gown before her. This one was of similar cut and style to the first, only fashioned out of cloth of gold and bedecked with spangles and semi-precious stones sewn into the trim.

"So, once you've trapped Kelson in your cleavage with that first gown, you can wear _this_ one for your Coronation," Seisyll teased after the first stunned moments of silence.

A burst of laughter escaped Sophie, though only because the only other recourse would've been tears. "Would you all _please_ shut up? You're not helping! What am I going to _do_ with these?!"

"Well, _that_ one could fly from the top of a lighthouse to reflect the light further."

"Seisyll!" Sophie sent a look of mute appeal to her house sisters, but they were too busy chortling to be of any help.

Another knock sounded. "Oh, sweet Jesú, who is it _now_!" Sophie cried, thoroughly exasperated. Ailidh tossed the second gown onto the first, burying both under the linen cloths that had originally wrapped them, then went to open the door.

"Your Majesty!" Ailidh's eyes widened. She sank into a low curtsey, the others in the room following suit in giving due reverence as soon as they saw Kelson standing in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, ladies. Arilan." A dark brow arched over the Haldane gray eyes as he saw his knight standing there with the three ladies-in-waiting. He took a step into the room so Ailidh could close the door behind him, waving for all to rise from their reverences. "A redhead, a blonde, and a brunette. Sir Seisyll, I can't possibly fault your excellent tastes, but really, are you trying to collect the whole set?"

The knight grinned. "'A redhead, a blonde, and a brunette are newly-come to Court….' That sounds like the set-up for a joke, Sire."

The royal brow arched further. "It _is_. And one, I trust, you'll not be sharing in _this_ company!"

Blue-violet eyes looked startled, then wickedly amused. "It really is?" The grin grew. "Tell me later, then."

Kelson snorted. "Ask Morgan." He lifted the account book he held in silent reminder that he hadn't stopped by just to banter with beautiful ladies and an attentive courtier. "I'm sorry to interrupt the day's pleasantries, but I need to speak with Lady Sophie for a few minutes. In private." At the ladies' startled look, he amended the request slightly. "Retiring to an adjoining chamber will be fine, ladies. This shouldn't take very long."

Ailidh and Celsie curtseyed respectfully, then retired to their bedchamber, Ailidh discreetly scooping up the armload of unwanted deliveries on her way out.

Seisyll bowed to his King. "Shall I return later, Lady Sophie?"

"Yes, I suppose that would be all right. You never did actually get around to saying what you'd come for," she belatedly realized.

"To make you smile," he said, bowing over her hand before seeing himself out.

Kelson watched the knight leave, then turned to Sophie. "I truly am sorry to intrude, but I've a Council meeting later in the day, so I wanted to go ahead and get this out of the way quickly." He opened the book he held to pull out a bill of sale. "This arrived on my desk today, in a bundle of correspondence dealing with Kestrel Mote's accounts. I was hoping you might be able to shed a bit of light on it. I'm certain it must be a scribe's error." He handed her the document

Sophie's eyes lit on the bill. A moment later, as its import hit, they widened. "Sweet merciful—" Her jaw dropped open, closed again with an almost audible snap. "She's gone too far this time! I am going to _kill_ her! She is going to _die_!" Fire flashed in her hazel eyes as she slammed the parchment onto the table.

Kelson's eyebrows threatened to crawl into his hairline, possibly in search of refuge. "Who is, Lady Sophie?"

"Alienora!" The hazel eyes before him shimmered with angry tears. "This—this amount could keep all of Kestrel Mote in food for six months! _Six months!_ It's—this is _obscene_!"

Kelson tilted his head at her, looking a bit confused. "So it's not a scribal error, then?" He scanned the document again. "But…surely she didn't pay this much for only two gowns, did she? Tell me _that's_ an error, at least?"

Sophie, feeling dazed, sank into her chair. "No, I'm afraid it's not. She ordered them shortly before she left Rhemuth. I don't know how far in advance; I didn't know about the order until she mentioned it to me as they were leaving." She looked up, feeling helpless. "It needs to come out of her inheritance money, not Kestrel Mote's coffers, Sire. I never wanted the gowns; they're _completely _unsuitable."

"Ah. So it's too late to stop the order, then? Though I suppose it makes little difference, if they're to be charged to Alienora personally."

"I'm afraid so. The gowns were delivered just a short while ago." She shook her head. "Sweet Jesú, I'm not sure how I'm going to retain our servants until the next harvest, but I've got utterly unwearable gowns that could…_oh_, how I want to choke her!"

Kelson took a seat beside her, poring through the documents she'd been studying earlier. "Hm. Carthane's right, this looks pretty dire." He studied Sophie in sympathy for a long moment. "Maybe the gowns could somehow be altered and resold? You wouldn't get the full amount, of course…." He broke off as she started to laugh, a more hopeless sound than a merry one.

"No one in their right mind would pay anywhere _near_ that price for _these _gowns. Trust me."

His lips twitched. "I'm dying to see two gowns that could feed the entire household staff of a manor house for six months."

Sophie's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, no. No, you _really_ don't want that, Sire!"

The speculative gleam grew in the young King's eyes. "No, really, I'm _quite_ curious. _I _don't spend that much on wardrobe, even for State occasions. Well, _maybe_ for my Coronation." He grinned. "Look, my lady, can we just get this out on the table? I've only met your stepmother twice, but I know her type. You were probably told to catch a Haldane." He smiled sympathetically as her cheeks turned crimson. "That's not your fault; I don't hold it against you at all, and you've never _once_ made me feel like I needed to do a full reverse and slip down a side corridor to escape you, for which I'm truly grateful. So please, _may_ I see the outfits?"

She sighed. "All right. But…I should warn you, they're quite ghastly." She stood, walking over to knock at her bedchamber door. After a whispered conference with Celsie, and a burst of giggles from inside the other chamber, Sophie re-emerged with the two gowns in hand.

Kelson stared. "Those are….most…_extraordinary_ gowns, Lady Sophie," he finally managed. The gray eyes lifted, meeting hers. Hers looked pained.

"I've been trying to think of some way—_any_ way—to salvage them," she confessed. "But I can't think of anything; can you?"

He pressed his lips together, struggling not to laugh. "I suppose the skirts could be remade into cloaks for the bull-baiters in Torenth. As for the bodices…." He lifted a hand to his mouth, pretending to consider the question seriously. "They're a little too scratchy to make proper handkerchiefs, but I'm not sure there's enough fabric there for much else. Belt pouches, maybe?"

Sophie fell back into her chair, burying her face in her arms again. She felt the King's hand pat her shoulder.

"All right, curiosity satisfied," said the laughing voice behind her. "I'll forward the bill back to Alienora. Tell Seisyll I apologize for taking away from his courtship time."

Sophie's head raised quickly as she looked up at Kelson, startled. "Oh, but he's not…" Her cheeks pinked again. "No, we're just friends."

"I see." The gray eyes studied her, speculative again. "Your choice, or his?"

"Sire?" The hazel eyes were a study in confusion.

Kelson sat again, meeting her eyes squarely. "The man danced half the Christmas Court dances with you, has commandeered food from the Royal Kitchens to tempt your appetite, asked for leave to have a bottle of my best vintage from my cellars brought up for you...which, by the by, he has reimbursed me for out of his personal account, which was a princely sum to be spending from a knight's income. Lady Sophie, if you're _not_ interested in his suit, you need to tell him that. Because trust me, he's courting you."

"I….Oh." She stared at Kelson dazedly. "Really?"

He chuckled. "Do you know why I danced the fifteenth dance with you at Twelfth Night Revel?"

She shook her head. "No, Sire."

He smiled. "Well, I wasn't free yet for the first two, but I was told I didn't get my request in fast enough for dances three to fourteen. Now, of _those_ dances, do you remember how many you spent partnered with Seisyll?"

Another head shake.

"Seven. Another three you sat out, and I suspect he would've asked for more if he weren't afraid of dropping dead from exhaustion." Kelson grinned. "Accept it. The man is courting you."

She dropped her eyes, looking suddenly shy. "Why _did _you ask for that fifteenth dance, Sire? I wasn't expecting that at all!"

"I know you weren't." He stood. "I have to do _some_ dancing during the holidays, or my Council gets annoyed with me. They say I don't try hard enough to get to know you ladies." He sighed. "And I know they're right. But it's annoying to feel forced into merrymaking with women who are only after a Crown. If I'm going to join in the revelry, at least I want to dance with someone who's not chasing me, and who isn't going to read a lot of significance and intent into a dance request that simply isn't there. And _that _leaves me precious few ladies near my own age to choose from." He bowed over her hand. "Thank you for the dance, Lady Sophie."

He turned to walk out, leaving her staring after him.


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

"So, how is the patient settling in?"

Sophie jumped up from her chair, eyes alight with relief to see Bishop Duncan standing at the entrance of the small apartment Kelson had set aside for Sir Stefan de Varnay. "He's still in some pain, but the King's own physician has prescribed strong wine for it…with a bit of something stronger mixed in as well, I believe. But Stefan's growing stronger each day, they say, and they expect him to make a full recovery. Well, except for his arm. They've set it, but it was so badly fractured, it might never be quite right again, they told me."

"Hm. May I have a look at it?"

Sophie looked up at Duncan, belatedly realizing he wasn't simply a bishop, but a Deryni healer as well. "Oh, _would_ you! I never even _thought_ about…." She blushed. "Could _you_ do something for him?"

"I do believe that's why Kelson send me down here," Duncan assured her with a smile. "Is your brother awake still, or has he drifted off again?"

"I'm not sure. He was awake a few minutes ago, but he just had a bit more wine. We can find out."

Duncan led the way into the bedchamber where the patient lay, attended by a physician and a matronly woman wearing a nun's habit and veils. The physician looked up as he approached.

"Ah. Bishop McLain! His Majesty said you'd be stopping by. Sister Therese, this is the healer we were discussing earlier."

The nun gazed up at Duncan with frank curiosity. "The Deryni healer? I look forward to watching you work, my lord Bishop."

Duncan smiled, looking pleasantly surprised by the welcome, not to mention relieved to be encountering mere curiosity and not outright hostility. "A pleasure to meet you, Sister. Well, let's take a look at the patient." He moved over to the bedside. "Hello, Sir Stefan, I'm Duncan McLain. I've been asked to have a look at your injuries. How's it going today?"

The hazel eyes fluttered open. "…you're…Sophie's bishop? Gotta stop teaching her…military tactics….handed my arse back to me that last game…."

Sophie laughed. Duncan cast an inquisitive look over his shoulder at her. "Did that make any sense to you?"

"Um…yes, actually." She averted her eyes, willing down a blush. "I'll explain later."

Duncan turned back to the patient. "All right, Sir Stefan. Besides that, how are you feeling?"

Stefan's eyes remained closed, but his lips twitched. "_Awful_, m'lord bishop. Had a dozen women this week…coming right to my bed…tending my every need…and damn it, they're all _nuns_!"

The bishop roared with laughter. Looking over at the royal physician, he commented, "I think the man's going to live."

"Oh, you think?" the physician returned with a wry grin.

Sister Therese chuckled. "He's been like this since he woke up. The convent infirmary was…a rather lively place for a while. I may have to treat some of the sisters for shock."

"Pretty blonde one…was she under final vows?" Stefan whispered.

The nun sighed. "Yes, my lord." She patted his uninjured arm. "I keep trying to tell you, Sir Stefan; a convent really isn't the best place for a young bachelor to meet eligible women."

Duncan suppressed another laugh as he carefully laid hands on the splinted arm, closing his eyes and reaching out with his Deryni senses to assess the damage. The arm had been tended to skillfully, but the fractures were so complex that it had been difficult to line up all the broken pieces again, and some were still out of proper alignment. He visualized the bones as they should be, reaching over to the uninjured arm for a quick comparison, then continued his work on the injured arm, using his Deryni powers to nudge the fragments back into a position that would allow them to set properly, then accelerating the healing in the limb, restoring it to wholeness.

"So, what are you prescribing for Sir Stefan _besides_ a wife?" Duncan asked, glancing up at the physician and the infirmarian before turning his attention to the knight's other injuries.

"Willow bark powder to help ease the pain, talicil and feverfew to keep the fever down, astragalus and goldenseal to fight off infection. Also honey, both to help ward off infection and to make the medicine more palatable. And strong wine, of course."

Duncan's hands moved to Stefan's head, sensing the extent of the head injury. There were signs of recent concussion, but no skull fractures. Duncan sent more healing power to the area to speed up the recovery process. "I understand he had some sword injuries?" he murmured as he finished.

The nun stared at the bishop's healing hands, transfixed, though at his question she brought herself back to the moment and met his questioning gaze. "Yes." She lowered the blanket, revealing the knight's bandaged chest. "He took several deep gashes after he lost his shield arm. I think he briefly lost consciousness from the pain and shock, and the brigands took advantage. As you see, they're mostly on that left side; he was lying on his right side when he fell. It's a good thing he didn't land on his sword blade."

She helped him unwrap the bandages, laying them to one side. Duncan saw the cuts were already on the way to healing naturally, but he sped the process along as he had done with the other injuries. At last Sir Stefan lay quietly, the drugged wine having taken effect, but his body appeared whole. The infirmarian ran her fingers over the places where the gashes had been, lingering longer on the shield arm, gentle fingers probing the bone to assess its wholeness. She looked up at the bishop with eyes filled with wonder.

"Did you already know you had a healing gift when you took holy vows?" she asked him.

Duncan shook his head. "No, I only discovered it a few years ago."

She sighed. "It's a pity you're a bishop; you would've made a wonderful infirmarian. But I've heard you have a son who bears the gift as well, yes? _He_ isn't called to a vocation, is he?"

The bishop smiled at the thought. "No. I believe it would take the entire Cassani army to force my son into a cassock."

The infirmarian laughed. "Well, that's good! If it's a heritable gift, he needs to wed, and quickly. God knows we need more healers in this world." She sighed. "Even if they're not called to holy vows. Maybe _especially_ if they're not called to holy vows. The more, the better." She sighed wistfully. "I know _I'd_ welcome lay healers in my infirmary, if they could produce those kinds of results!" Her brown eyes twinkled. "I shall pray he has a _very_ fruitful marriage."

Duncan chuckled. "More healers. I'll tell Dhugal to get right to work on that."

#

"How are you feeling?" Sophie brought her brother a goblet of water, helping him sit to drink it.

He looked down. "I feel…great!" He stared at her, flexing his left arm. "I only vaguely remember…._He_ did this, didn't he? The Deryni bishop you mentioned in your letters?"

"Yes. The King asked him to look in on you."

Stefan looked down, gingerly feeling the places where his scars had been. There was some lingering tenderness and redness, but no sign that they had been life-threatening. "I should thank him."

"I'm sure you'll have a chance to," Sophie said with a smile. "He said he'd come by to check on you again later tonight."

Stefan nodded, staring distracted out the window. "Sophie….the Earl of Carthane came by this morning, just after I woke up. Has he told you…Are you aware of the state of Kestrel Mote's finances?"

She sighed. "Oh, yes. I've been going over the reports. So it's certain; Alienora _is_ returning to her family?"

He snorted. "Well, I've not had much of a chance to ask her yet, but do you think it's likely she'll choose to stay?" He closed his eyes. "There's no help for it, Sophie. I'll just have to find a wife." He gave a mirthless chuckle. "A wealthy one, but one who doesn't mind intermarrying with a penniless knight's family." He sighed. "I suppose I'll be chatting up a lot of rich merchants' daughters in the next few days."

"Oh, Stefan…." Sophie lay her cheek on her brother's arm. "Surely there's got to be some other way out than _that_!"

"Well, if you think of one, be sure to let me know! I don't like the idea any better than you do." He turned to look at her. "So, how's your Arilan?"

She blushed. "Well enough, I suppose."

"Any talk of marriage yet?"

She chuckled softly. "No."

"No? Why not? What's wrong with the man?"

Sophie laughed. "Nothing! You know, Stefan, there's a bit more to getting to know someone than just 'Hello, you look marriageable, so how about it, want to wed and make babies now?'"

Stefan smiled. "I suppose." He brought his sister's hand to his lips to bestow a light kiss on her fingertips. "I just want to see you taken care of, Sophie. And Seisyll could do the job a lot better than I can right now." He took a deep breath, let it back out in a gusty sigh.

"Don't worry about that, Stefan. Just focus on resting and recovering. I don't think the King is getting ready to kick us out into the streets just yet."

"Yes, I know. But Rhemuth life is expensive, and I don't want to take undue advantage of Kelson's generosity. He's going to expect me to be trying to get my feet back under me sometime, you know."

"Yes, I know. But not necessarily today." She kissed his brow. "I told my house-sisters I'd meet them for the noon meal, but I'll be back. Shall I bring you back something, or are you still on physician-prescribed meals?"

He grimaced. "Yes, and yes. Some hot meat would be greatly appreciated, or at least _something_ that looks like it once had a nodding acquaintance with a beast. If anyone tries to feed me more gruel, I'm likely to fling the bowl at his head."

"Understood. No gruel." She smiled. "Don't be difficult, Stefan. I'll be back in a bit."

#

Stefan was finishing off the last of his roast capon when Sir Seisyll arrived. "So. You're trying to chat up pretty young nuns, now, I hear. That's a new low for you, isn't it?"

The patient laughed. "Who told you that, Sophie?"

"Who else?" Seisyll grinned, pulling up a chair by Stefan's bedside. "I also hear you've been healed."

"Pretty much." Stefan pointed out the areas where his injuries had been. "The King's physician wants me to rest another day or two just to get my strength back—I was unconscious for a few days—but then I suppose it's back to my normal routine again." He sighed. "Whatever _that_ is, now." He polished off the last bite of capon and set the trencher to one side. "That's a_ lot _more fortifying than gruel."

Seisyll chuckled. "I can imagine." He studied Sophie's brother a long moment. "Sophie says you're talking about needing to marry." He smiled wryly. "She's pretty upset about it."

Stefan shrugged. "Reality of life. Can't say I'm too thrilled either, but we all have to settle down sometime." He glanced out the window. "It's not how I'd hoped to go about it, but it's not like the responsibilities are going to go away, are they?"

Seisyll shook his head. "No, they're not." The two men sat in silence for a few moments, then Seisyll asked, "Thinking about any lady in particular?"

Stefan snorted. "Not really. Know anyone rich, of childbearing age, and not so dire I'll have to slip a bag over her head to bed her?"

The King's agent chuckled. "I might." He leaned back with a faint smile. "If you're seriously looking and are willing to consider her."

Stefan looked sharply at his friend. "Wait. You're serious."

"Yes." Seisyll regarded his former training companion. "Sophie showed me Carthane's report on Kestrel Mote. I understand her qualms about you rushing into marriage, but I also agree with you that it's probably going to be necessary. At least I'm failing to come up with any other options either, short of going to the moneylenders, and that would only be a temporary solution. Finding a wife takes care of two needs, not just one."

"It would." Stefan gave Seisyll a wry smile. "Sounds really easy when _you're_ not the one facing the decision, doesn't it?" He sighed. "So, tell me about this rich lady. What's wrong with her?"

Seisyll chuckled. "What makes you think something's wrong with her?"

"Well, she's rich, of marriageable age, and yet she's not married. You're mentioning her as an option as if an impoverished knight like myself actually has a chance of gaining such a prize, so if _that's_ the case, there has to be something wrong with her. So what is it? Is she old?"

Seisyll shook his head. "Not really. A bit older than the average first time bride, but she's younger than we are. Around twenty, I think."

"All right. Ugly, then."

"Well, that's a matter for personal opinion, but I've never thought so." Seisyll reached into his doublet, pulling out a miniature portrait. "What do you think?" He tilted his head to study it himself. "She's a little older now—I think she was sixteen when this was painted—but it's still a close resemblance."

Stefan studied the miniature. A young woman's face looked back at him, raven-black hair like a silken curtain framed an oval face with olive skin and dusky roses In her cheeks. Golden-amber eyes framed by long dark lashes smiled back at him above a nose slightly tilted at the end and a generous mouth tilted slightly upwards at each corner. He stared back up at Seisyll, one eyebrow climbing skyward. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." Seisyll's faint smile grew slightly wider. "You interested now?"

Stefan's eyes turned wary. "What's the catch? There has to be one. No woman who looks like that and has a good dowry goes to her twentieth year without a husband unless there's something wrong. Is she missing a limb? Or does she have the pox? Or maybe she's been violated, or she's got a wasting disease...Look, man, just tell me! I just need to know what I'd be getting into." He studied Seisyll suspiciously. "Why haven't _you_ married her, if she's such a catch?"

Seisyll laughed. "I thought about it. I've known her half my life, and have always been fond of her. But we're a little too closely related." He shrugged. "Not so much so that a dispensation couldn't have been obtained, but there are good reasons for consanguinity laws." He shook his head. "Didn't want to take a chance with my heirs." He leaned back with a smile, knowing he'd piqued the other knight's interest. "All right. Here's the downside, if downside it is. It will be up to you to decide if the difficulties are insurmountable. One reason she's still unmarried at twenty is that she has a very doting father who has two primary qualifications for the man who wins her hand. The first is that he must be a man his daughter is willing to accept, because he'll not force her into a marriage bed with someone she can't stomach. The second is that he would strongly prefer a Deryni husband for her. Naturally, those are rather difficult to find nowadays in Gwynedd, so there haven't been all that many coming forward to make offers."

Stefan studied Seisyll warily, wondering how much the man knew about his family's heritage. Had Sophie told him? "He _wants_ a Deryni husband for her?" he repeated, just to make sure he hadn't misheard.

"That's correct. And there's one other issue. Some men might think it's one that would make her not worth a second look; others wouldn't have a problem with it. She's deaf." He held up a hand before Stefan could speak. "But she can read lips quite fluently, as long as you are facing her, and she lost her hearing after she learned how to talk, so she is still able to speak. Her speech is fairly clear, although she sounds as if she has a bit of an accent. And, being Deryni, she can Mind-Speak. In fact, I suspect she prefers that. Much easier for her than lip-reading or working to speak clearly, I would imagine."

Stefan nodded slowly. "Is it a heritable defect, though?"

Seisyll shook his head. "No. She had the scarlet fever as a young child."

Stefan sat in thought for a long moment. "I would want to meet her first before I decide, just to make sure we'd actually suit. And are you _sure_ her father would even consider me for her hand? I haven't much to offer besides a roof to put over her head...and _she'll _probably need to pay for the roof repairs!" He sighed.

Seisyll nodded. "I think, as long as you promise to make a home for his daughter, and that you'll treat her kindly and with care, and not just as a breeder for heirs, that you'll find her father willing to consider your suit—at least if someone he trusts vouches for you, which I'll do. Despite her wealth and her beauty, she really hasn't had many serious offers, and the ones she's had were from men she'd rather not have—too old, too ugly, just looking for a beautiful bride to bed. She's a realist; she'll know she's being courted as much for her dowry as anything else. But given your circumstances, I think she'll also be understanding of that, as long as she's not made to feel that's _all_ you want." He gave Stefan a warning smile. "And do remember, I'm very fond of the girl. I may be recommending her as a bride, but if I _ever_ learn you've hurt her, I'll not hesitate to deck you a second time."

Stefan snorted. "The first time was enough, thank you." He glanced at Seisyll. "How _is_ Lady Javana?"

"My sister does well." Seisyll considered Stefan a long moment. "What I interrupted between you—would you have stopped, if I hadn't happened along?"

Stefan flushed. "I...might have. I'd meant to, but...I wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the time." He gave Seisyll a wry smile.

"Were you planning on offering for her?"

Stefan looked away. "I considered it, yes. But...I wasn't ready to settle down yet." A flash of pain flickered briefly in the hazel eyes. "And I've nothing to offer her now, at any rate."

Seisyll nodded. "She was betrothed last August. They're planning the wedding for this May."

Stefan closed his eyes. "Well...that's good. I wish her well." He took a deep breath, opened his eyes again. "So, what's the pretty heiress's name?"

Seisyll's blue-violet eyes met his sympathetically. "Lady Lisette Aurelia Michonne de Courcy."

"How soon can I meet her?"

Seisyll stood. "They came to Rhemuth shortly before Twelfth Night, and as far as I know, they're still here. I'll speak with her father and see how soon I can arrange a meeting."

#

Seisyll stopped by Sophie's apartment on his way out. The Contessa gave him permission to have a private conversation with her in the window embrasure.

_His Majesty says you're courting me,_ Sophie Mind-Spoke as soon as they were alone together. _Are you?_

He chuckled. _He did, did he? _ He studied her. _Do you mind? I think we're better acquainted now than we were when the subject first came up. _He reached for her hand. _Sophie, courtship isn't binding. If you decide later that I'm not the man you want, you only need to tell me so, and I'll stop. We can still take things slowly, if you're not ready to consider a betrothal yet._ He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips lightly.

She blushed. _I do enjoy spending time with you._

He smiled. _I'm glad. I'm enjoying getting to know you better. _ He turned her hand over, planting a kiss in her palm and closing her fingers around it. _I've just been by to visit Stefan._

_ Oh! I should go back down and check in on him again. Unless he was going to try to get more rest? _Sophie looked at him inquiringly.

_I doubt he can sleep at the moment. I've just told him I would make a few inquiries with a family friend to arrange a match between Stefan and his daughter._

Sophie looked across at him in shock. "I know he thinks he needs to find an heiress, but I don't think he really _wants _to wed yet," she whispered, too startled to revert back to Mind-Speech. "Oh, Seisyll, _must_ you?"

He smiled reassuringly. "He seemed willing enough once he saw her picture. And I daresay she'll be equally willing once she's had a chance to meet him. Her father's dying, Sophie. Not immediately, but it's just a matter of time. He wants his daughter cared for, and...well, just to be perfectly candid, Lisette's dowry should be quite sufficient for Stefan's needs." He squeezed her hand. "I know it's not ideal. It's not a love match. But there's no reason it can't become one." _And she's Deryni,_ he added. _Quite well trained, too. I think you'll like her._

_ Really? _Sophie looked thoughtful. At last she sighed. _Well, as long as Stefan's not averse to the idea. I just wish you'd told me first before you took the liberty of mentioning her to him._

_ Why, so you could fret? _He sent a quiet mental chuckle her way as he stood briefly to take the empty seat beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders.

She eyed him warily. _What are you doing?_

He stole a glance around the corner. The Contessa's head was bowed, focused on her needlework. _Now that you realize I'm courting you? Taking another liberty._

He bent to steal a kiss. It was a long moment before Sophie remembered how to speak again.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Stefan peered nervously into the polished brass mirror. He had groomed himself as carefully as he could manage, and found an outfit to wear that he hoped would suit. The brigands who had attacked his family had stolen most of their goods, but they'd managed to miss a pack or two in the chaos, and these belongings had been returned into his keeping upon his return to Rhemuth. This particular doublet had not been his very best, but it had been far from his worst, and at least he'd been told that the color was flattering.

He flicked a speck of lint off his sleeve and turned away, running nervous fingers though his hair for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Ready?" Sir Seisyll asked. It had been agreed that the King's agent would escort his former squire-brother upstairs to meet his prospective bride and her father in private, and then they would spend an evening in the Great Hall enjoying the night's entertainment and getting better acquainted, allowing Sophie a chance to meet her possible sister-in-law to be. If, by the end of the evening, all concerned were still willing to consider going ahead with the match, Stefan would return upstairs with the demoiselle's father to discuss the formal terms of betrothal.

"As I'll ever be, I suppose." Stefan tugged on the bottom edge of his doublet to straighten it, then turned away from the mirror. "Lead on."

#

The door was opened by a young chambermaid who bobbed an efficient curtsey and flashed a dimpled smile at the two men as she let them into the Baron de Courcy's apartment. "This way, m'lords," she said, leading them into an adjoining solar before retreating to announce their arrival.

A few moments later, the Baron himself entered—a tall, dark-haired man with an aura of quiet power he wore like a cloak. "Good evening, Sir Seisyll." His eyes moved to the other man. "And you must be Sir Stefan de Varnay."

"I am, my lord Baron."

A coolly appraising look, though not a hostile one, from the girl's father. "You are Sir Ranulf's heir, then?"

"Yes, my Lord. Newly come into my inheritance, I'm afraid."

"So I hear. I'm sorry to hear of your father's passing. He was a good man." He studied the suitor for his daughter's hand. "I'm given to understand also that you currently find yourself experiencing certain—difficulties?-concerning your inheritance."

Having the matter brought up so quickly and bluntly was discomfiting. Stefan had hoped to ease into the discussion of dowry much later, not wanting to seem more desperate for ready cash than eager to wed the man's daughter. Still, he knew better than to try to lie before a man who, if seeking a Deryni husband for his child, was likely Deryni himself, and might well be Truth-Reading him.

"I am. We had a string of unfortunate events at Kestrel Mote in recent years—first, my mother's long illness and her death, followed by a couple of years of crop blight. And the manor is an older one. The monies that had been set aside for its repair ended up having to be used to restore the fields instead. My father had a plan in place for restoring our fortunes, but upon his unexpected death—well, Kestrel Mote still isn't entirely in the clear. But it could easily be within a couple of years, barring any more catastrophes." Stefan hoped the explanation would suffice. "I give you my word, my lord, that I'm no wastrel, nor was my father before me. I know the value of a coin and how to spend it wisely, even if I happen to fall a bit short on them at the moment."

The Baron studied him a long moment, then nodded, appearing satisfied. "So, tell me a bit about yourself. I understand you were in training with Sir Seisyll?"

Stefan glanced at his former squire brother. "Yes, my Lord. I spent my earlier years in service to the Earl of Carthane as his page, but later entered King Brion's service to train as a squire under Prince Nigel along with Sir Seisyll. Then, after I was knighted, I returned home to Kestrel Mote for a time. My mother was in her final illness by then, and Father needed me back at the estate."

A fleeting shadow darkened the Baron's eyes. "Of course. And so you've been there since?"

"For the most part, my Lord, when not required elsewhere." A wry smile. "We _have _had a few military conflicts over the past four years."

"Ah, yes. First Wencit, then Catrin and the continuing Mearan nuisance. Though Kelson seems to have _that _well enough in hand now, assuming the Ramsays remain loyal." The Baron's golden-brown eyes studied him. "I've done a few inquiries this afternoon; I learned you acquitted yourself well in Meara. I wasn't aware you had been involved in the campaign against Wencit as well."

Stefan smiled grimly. "My first. Though there was little combat to speak of _there_, as it turned out, by the time I arrived. The biggest challenge for a fledgling knight was not losing my lunch when we...ah...re-encountered the Cassani army." He thought back to those headless bodies on pikes and suppressed a shudder. "Meara was preferable."

The Baron nodded. "So," he said after a moment. "We've no imminent conflicts in sight, and you're newly come into Kestrel Mote, and looking to take up your new responsibilities. Which brings you to my door. I expect you'd like to meet my daughter now, to see If she might possibly suit?"

Again, Stefan was disconcerted by the blunt approach, yet in a sense relieved he hadn't had to broach the subject himself. "Yes, my Lord, if I may."

"A moment." He turned slightly towards a doorway to the rear of the room. Though he said nothing aloud, the demoiselle appeared in the entrance a moment later. The Baron turned back to Stefan.

"Seisyll has told me what he shared with you about Lisette. She is quite fluent at lip reading but prefers Mind-Speech..._if _that is not a problem for you." The golden-brown eyes studied him cautiously.

Stefan's hazel eyes met his with equal caution. "It's no problem," he finally admitted, "though I have little training in...that side of my heritage. Mind-Speech, I can manage easily enough, though."

Baron de Courcy nodded. "Good. And training can be acquired easily enough, given knowledge of the right people. Lisette, you may enter, sweeting."

The demoiselle did, giving the two visitors a polite curtsey before taking a seat next to her father. She flashed a welcoming smile at Seisyll before giving Stefan a shyly curious study.

"You're...younger than I expected," she said quietly. Stefan had to lean forward slightly to catch what she'd said. As Seisyll had mentioned, her voice had a slight inflection to it, or perhaps a lack thereof, which gave it an almost foreign sound. Still, it wasn't unpleasant, simply unusual. Combined with her raven tresses and olive complexion, she might be mistaken for a lady from some more exotic Eastern clime.

"Not too young to interest you, I hope?" Stefan inquired, his nervousness starting back up again. He hadn't stopped to think, in all his planning, of how the demoiselle herself might react to his courtship.

Her gold-amber eyes dropped demurely. "Not too young, my lord. I had feared you might be..._much_ older." Her cheeks colored slightly.

"Well, I am young, but I'm fairly well experienced." _Oh sweet Jesú, couldn't _that _be misconstrued!_ "In Court matters, I mean, and on the battlefront. And with estate management. I could care well for a family..." _Given the funds to provide for one...oh heavens, how can I convince her?!_

"Sir Seisyll says your manor is called Kestrel Mote?"

"It is, my Lady. It's to the south and a bit east of here, in Carthane, a short distance beyond Nyford." _But don't worry, my lady,_ _they've not burned Deryni at the stake there in some years. Not in the public square anyway. Maybe in some back alleys. _He erected rock-hard shields around the thought, wishing he could get his jitters under control. Sweet Jesú, he'd rather be riding into Torenth with a lance at the ready than be sitting here trying to figure out how to make small talk with this demoiselle under her father's gimlet gaze!

She leaned forward eagerly, holding out a slender hand. "Would you show it to me?"

It took him a moment to realize what she was asking, unaccustomed as he was to displaying his Deryni powers around anyone besides blood-kin. He sent a startled glance at her father, who nodded his permission. Stefan reached for the lady's hand. It was soft, resting gently in his as her eyes lifted to his face in curiosity. He closed his eyes, summoning up a memory of his home and establishing a shallow, tentative link.

_It's seen better days,_ he silently apologized, _but hopefully you can see its potential. _He showed her images of his home, both from earlier years when his mother had still been alive and the estate had enjoyed better fortune, with bountiful harvests making it easier to keep the property maintained. Then, with some hesitancy, he showed her the manor as he'd seen it more recently, beginning to show signs of disrepair here and there, as well maintained as could be managed with the reduced household they'd limited themselves to after their first major losses. The changes Alienora had added to the manor, many not to Stefan's taste, that he hoped to change back as they once were, or at least change to something different from what they were now.

_You don't get along with your father's second wife?_ the demoiselle asked. He felt no judgment in the question, just inquiry. He sent her a few impressions of Alienora—her aloof superiority towards Stefan, her waspishness towards Sophie, the imperious way in which she sought to control her husband's household. _Oh. Well, I suppose one could hardly blame you!_

Stefan studied the young woman gazing shyly at him. From up close, her lashes seemed impossibly long, a dark fringe accentuating those shiral eyes. He broke his gaze away. She was more beautiful than Seisyll's portrait had shown. Or maybe she'd just grown into her beauty since then. He realized that he still held her hand, and that her father was still watching them both quite intently. Stefan reclaimed his hand a bit self-consciously, clasping his fingers together in his lap, and glanced over at Seisyll. He could swear the man was masking a faint grin. _Damn you for putting me in this position!_

"Does the tower at Kestrel Mote face east, my lord?" Lisette asked.

"Why yes, it does, my lady," Stefan answered. "How did you know?"

She shrugged. "From the position of the sun behind it in your memory. It looked to be a sunrise rather than a sunset. The upper room is quite nice; what was it used for?"

"In my mother's day, it was her bower. Lately..." He sighed. "Storage, mostly."

"A pity. Still, the building looks sound, for the most part. I had feared it might be in worse shape."

"If you...ah...cared to come there, you could fix it up as you please. I know Alienora's décor might not be to your taste..." _Let's hope! _"My mother enjoyed gardening...there's a small garden out back...not much of it left now...if you like flowers and that sort of thing..." _Good God, man you're babbling now, just shut up shut up shut UP!_

She giggled. _I'm nervous too. I was terrified when you knocked on that door! Even though Seisyll assured me you weren't, I was half afraid you were going to be another..._ Instead of finishing the thought, she sent an small assortment of images of various other men, presumably earlier suitors. One looked to be well into his sixties, with a florid face and such a large girth Stefan wondered how he'd planned on sharing a bed with his young bride without snapping the mattress support ropes.

_Sweet Jesú, lady, if I ever approach your bed looking like_ that,_ I give you leave to hold up my sword so I can fall upon the point of it and spare you further agony!_

She laughed, a merry sound that caused her father to gaze questioningly at her. She glanced at him, shaking her head with a dimpled smile and giggling again.

Stefan felt a bit more heartened. "My Lady, I'm told there are jongleurs in the Great Hall tonight. Perhaps you and your father would care to come down for the feast, and my sister could join us? I'm sure she'd like to get to know you as well."

She glanced at her father, the question in her eyes. "Yes," he responded. Her cheeks glowed as she accepted Stefan's offer on their behalf.

#

A short while later they were seated in the Great Hall, Seisyll having gone slightly ahead to collect Sophie and secure a place in the Hall where Lisette would have a good vantage point of the night's entertainment.

Stefan and Lisette shared a trencher, with Sophie sitting on Lisette's far side, positioned to get to know her better, while Stefan found himself with the Baron de Courcy seated to his left, still watching him avidly with what Stefan had come to think of as an eagle's stare. The two young ladies were engaged in a quiet, occasionally completely silent, conversation, punctuated by the occasional soft laugh or peal of giggles. Stefan was dying to know what they were talking about, but the question merely sent both ladies into bursts of laughter again. He hoped Sophie wasn't sharing anything _too_ damning.

The jugglers and acrobats began their portion of the show, drawing Lisette's attention back to the center of the Hall for the next few minutes, but once the minstrels began to sing, she lost interest after a few minutes, turning her attention back to her food. Stefan, with a shock, realized why—from this distance, she probably couldn't read their lips well enough to tell what they were singing. And of course she couldn't hear the music at all.

It was a pity, for these minstrels were quite talented.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, he touched her hand. _I'm sorry, my lady. Would you like to hear them?_

_ Yes, _she responded, her eyes lighting up. _Would you show me?_

He focused on the music and the singers' voices, opening up his senses to her so she could experience the music for herself. Her eyes widened with delight, then fluttered closed as she began to tap out the rhythm with her foot. _I love music. I so rarely hear it anymore, though. My mother played the harp and the vielle._

He watched her quiet joy, continuing to share the music as he did so, and experiencing her pleasure at the sweet refrains. It was an odd sort of intimacy. Remembering Lisette's father suddenly, Stefan cast a somewhat wary glance at him, only to find him watching them both with a satisfied gleam in those golden eyes.

_She likes to dance,_ her father informed Stefan.

_She does?_ Stefan turned his attention back to Lisette. _I look forward to dancing with you some evening._

Her eyes sparkled. _And I look forward to hearing the dance music through your ears._

Stefan entertained a brief vision of himself palm to palm with the maiden beside him, spinning her graceful form away from him, then drawing her back into the protective circle of his embrace. That led to other, more intimate thoughts which he hastily shuttered away lest she catch a glmpse of them and grow alarmed. The sudden demure lowering of her eyes made him wonder if he'd managed to shield the thought in time. Music, best to keep his thoughts on that for the moment, and nothing else. Jesú, the Hall was warm tonight!

_Have you been married before, my lord?_

_ No, my lady. I've not looked to do so until now._

She smiled back up at him. He smiled back, reaching for his wine goblet.

_Have you any children?_

He swallowed quickly to avoid spewing wine across the table. _I...No, my lady. Not that I kn—um, no, I don't... _He felt his cheeks growing hot.

A mental laugh. _I'm sorry! I suppose that _was_ rather indelicate of me. Some men do, though. _She glanced up at him shyly. _I didn't want to assume._

_So, what else do you enjoy besides music and dancing? h_e asked somewhat desperately, eager to change the subject.

_I paint. I collect art—it's not a large collection, but I collect as I can. I like sculpting clay, though I'm not all that good at it. It's fun, though._ She mused on the question for a bit. _And I love glass. The way the light shines through it, the colors..._. _Oh, and I _love_ to ride! It's the closest we can get to soaring, I suppose. _She gave him a sidelong glance through her lashes. _Do you ever wish you could fly?_

_ I've...actually never considered the idea before, my lady. But it does seem like it would be an enjoyable pastime._

She smiled. _I love high places. I like to see all the sights below. That's why I asked about your tower; it looked like it would have a lovely view._

He studied the demoiselle's upturned face. _Have you ever seen Rhemuth from the top of the Castle's watch towers?_

Her features lit up. _No, but I'd love to sometime._

Stefan smiled.

#

Sir Seisyll escorted Sophie back to her own apartment, leaving Stefan to follow the Baron and his daughter back to theirs. The two looked to be engaged in a silent conversation during the walk back. Once they arrived, the demoiselle gave Stefan a smile and a quiet "Good evening, my lord," and retreated to her chamber.

"Have a seat," Baron de Courcy said.

Stefan did so, his earlier trepidation starting to return.

"Are you still minded to ask for my daughter now that you've met her and formed an acquaintance?"

He nodded. "Yes, my Lord, she's...even more delightful than I'd dared to hope, sir."

The golden eyes studied him. "I'm glad you think so. She seems to be quite taken with you as well." He sighed. "How does ten percent sound?"

"My Lord?" Stefan was genuinely puzzled.

"My understanding is that you are in immediate need of funds. However, I would feel easier about a marriage between you and my daughter if you had a bit more time to get to know each other before you exchange vows. I'm willing to pay an advance of ten percent of her dowry, with the condition that you will allow Lisette that extra time."

Stefan was stunned. "I...well, yes! I wouldn't want your daughter to feel rushed..."

"Good. Here are my conditions. I will give you the advance; in return, we will draw up the betrothal contract tonight." He reached into a cabinet, pulling out a sheaf of documents. "I have a contract partially drawn up, though of course we will need to fine-tune the particulars, and the signatures will need to be witnessed."

The young knight stared at the Baron. "I'm quite willing to sign, of course. But...I thought you just said you didn't wish to rush your daughter into anything binding?"

A dark brow rose. "What I meant was, I don't wish to rush her into the final marriage vows. I mean for her to have at least a _little_ time to adjust to the idea of wedding you between the betrothal and the bedding. But my daughter needs a husband as much as you need a wife, and I mean to see her future secured before I'm gone." He looked down at the papers he held, then back up at Stefan. "I'm not likely to last long enough to see the spring flowers come into bloom," he said simply.

"You..." Stefan dropped his eyes to the contract. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I didn't realize. You don't appear at all infirm..."

"One of the advantages of being Deryni, Stefan. I'm calling up a lot of strength right now that, trust me, I shall greatly answer for tomorrow. If you should come calling tomorrow, don't look for me to emerge from my bedchamber."

"Does Lisette know?"

"She does." He smiled sadly. "She's a courageous little bird. I'm certain she'll be fine. Just give her a little time to adjust to you, though on the other hand, I wish to see her safely wed before I die, so not _too _much time. I _am _heartened by one thing already."

"What's that, my Lord?"

The Baron smiled. "When I offered you ten percent of her dowry in advance, you didn't think to ask me 'ten percent of what total?' Do I dare to hope you find my daughter at least as desirable as the dowry she'll bring you?"

Stefan blushed. "I...ah...don't think I'll encounter any difficulties with getting heirs, my Lord."

The Baron chuckled. "Good. All right, let's see if we can agree on terms..."

#

Stefan and Lisette stood in the center of the small chamber, their betrothal vows to be witnessed by Sir Seisyll, Lady Sophie, and Bishop Duncan, who had been requested to perform the short betrothal ceremony in the Baron's chambers.

"Sir Stefan Michael Ranulf de Varney, will you take this woman..."

Stefan watched the play of candlelight on Lisette's face. He squeezed her hand as the Bishop finished repeating the short passage.

"I will"

"And will you, Lady Lisette Aurelia Michonne de Courcy, take this man..."

Her eyes shone up at him, bright with trust, mingled though it was with a few tears. She gave her father a trembling smile.

"I will," she whispered softly.

Stefan bent to kiss his future bride.


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"Come in, Alaric! Lady Celsie." Sean Derry stepped back to allow his visitors into his apartment. The demoiselle's bright eyes flitted around the chamber in avid curiosity. Morgan, of course, had seen it many a time before.

"Would either of you care for a drink before I drag out all those dry accounts?" Derry asked hospitably.

"You still have Vézairi port on hand?" Alaric asked.

"I do."

"I will have a _little _port."

Derry laughed. He well recalled the last time the Duke had indulged in just a bit _too_ much of the enjoyable but extremely potent beverage. "Not quite as kind the next day as it is going down, is it? Lady Celsie, what would you like?"

"Well..." She turned dancing eyes up at Morgan. "Nothing strong enough to fell a Duke, that's for certain!"

Both men laughed. "A Fianna, then?" Derry asked. At her nod, he poured the beverages, bringing them over to the table where they'd seated themselves.

Celsie's eyes surveyed the room. "This isn't a temporary apartment, is it? You've used it for years."

Derry sat. "I have. How did you know?"

The exploring blue eyes left off their study and returned to Derry's face. "It just has the look of having been lived in for a while. I know you're away from Rhemuth quite a bit, so for it to have so much of your mark on it, it has to be an apartment you return to consistently." She waved one hand to indicate his furnishings and décor. "These look to be your personal furnishings, arranged to your personal tastes, not simply supplied by a castellan. And it would be a major pain to have to move it all back and forth with you and into new quarters each time you return to Rhemuth."

He smiled. "You're quite right. One of the advantages of being on Kelson's Council is that I return to Rhemuth often enough, I'm allowed to keep my choice of apartment." He reached down for a leather-bound set of documents. "Now let's see if we can turn that bright and keenly observant mind to today's task, my lady—sorting out Chervignon's accounts."

Celsie leaned forward eagerly as Derry began to pull the documents out of the pouch. Alaric leaned back in his chair and gave his ward a dry smile.

"So, you actually enjoy going over your estate accounts, Celsie?"

She looked back up at the Duke in surprise. "Oh, yes, your Grace! They're like...like working out puzzles and mysteries! I love to see how the parts all come together to form the complete picture."

Derry chuckled. "I told you, Alaric." To Celsie, he added in a mock whisper, "I'm afraid Lord Robert has to all but sit on His Grace of Corwyn to get _him _to do the ducal accounts whenever he's back in Coroth."

"I heard that," Alaric said with a twinkle in his gray eyes as he sipped at his port.

Celsie's eyes flew over the enclosed letter from her new steward. "Master Derwin says they've found where Master Rannigan was hiding the money he was skimming! There was a secret chamber..." She kept reading, looking even more excited as she continued on. "So, I have them too! I wonder why; it's not that large a manor..."

"You have_ what_, too?" Alaric asked.

Celsie looked up from her letter and glanced at both men, suddenly appearing a bit self-conscious. "Um, Chervignon appears to have a secret passage from the upstairs study to the cellars, and another from there to the stables. I never knew. But I've _read _of such things; they're supposed to be common enough features in some older fortifications, I know. I just didn't think Chervignon would have them."

"Ah. Yes, it's a bit surprising in a manor house, though perhaps not quite as much so if your ancestors might have had a need for a secret means of escape. Like, perhaps, if your father's line as well as your mother's might have been Deryni?"

Celsie sighed. "I don't suppose I'll ever know now, will I? Unless, of course, they've left enough hints behind for me to put together someday and figure it out on my own." She brightened. "Oh, I hope they have! I'd love that." She put the letter down. "May I see the books, Lord Derry?"

He smiled at her. "Of course. That_ is _why I called you here, after all."

#

"It's too fine a day tae be cooped up inside a castle, Ailidh. Let's go out ridin'. I've found ye a fine bay; she's a well-behaved l'il mare, but with a bit o' spirit. Ye'll like her."

Ailidh, seated in the window embrasure across from Sir Jass, glanced into the main sitting room with a slight frown. "I'd prefer that, but the Contessa wants this mending finished by the end of the day," she said, indicating the work basket beside her with a tilt of her head.

"So what's left tae do?" Jass lifted a few garments from the small pile in the basket. "Just a few ripped seams an' hems tae mend? Well, if it's naught but _that_, I can help get it out o' th' way faster."

She arched a dark auburn brow at him. "You sew?"

Jass chuckled. "I havenae a wife, now have I? An' do ye see my mother followin' me around from Transha an' back? Aye, I sew, lass, or at least I can make a few simple repairs. I'll nae be cuttin' out a new shirt from whole cloth anytime soon, but aye, a ripped hem I can manage." He lifted the top garment from the pile. "So, what's this?"

"My night-rail."

He grinned. "I meant what's tae be done wi' it, but it's _your_ night-rail, is it?" He lifted the garment between them, his teasing eyes focusing first at the face above it, then lowering to give the fine cambric a leisurely appraisal.

She snatched it out of his hands. "Give me that!" Ailidh's eyes darted to Constanza, sitting nearby, but thankfully she appeared oblivious.

Jass suppressed a laugh. "Th' sooner we're done here, th' sooner I can introduce ye tae tha' bay. Just hand me a needle an' thread, an' somethin' it willnae embarrass ye for me tae have my hands all over."

Ailidh sighed. "Can you at least keep your stitches small?" She rolled her eyes as she fished out some sewing supplies for him. "Pretend you're me. No, better yet, pretend you're Celsie."

"Aye. Bonny an' blonde. Should I giggle?"

"Don't make me hurt you, Jass."

#

"So, between finding Rannigan's stash and the final tallies from the year's last harvest, it would appear you've made a tidy profit," Derry said as Celsie finished sharing her summation of what the books and her steward's report had told her. "Excellent! And so now we need to look at how much of that to set aside for your personal expenses, how much needs to go back into the estate...oh, and I think the Duke of Corwyn might have designs on some percentage of that."

Alaric laughed. "Indeed I do. Although a certain portion of it _will_ be returning to Chervignon, after a fashion."

"Your Grace?" Celsie tilted her head at him curiously.

"Some of the money Rannigan stole was meant to be your dowry, Celsie, not just the land tithe. As your guardian, I intend to restore that to you. It would hardly be fair to you to expect you to earn back what was rightfully yours to begin with."

"Oh! Well...thank you!" Celsie glanced down at the books, blushing slightly. She began to divide up the balance, using tally sticks to assist her. "So, if I pay this portion forward to you, Your Grace, and put this much back into the estate-I figure I'll need around half of that amount for staff maintenance and household needs, a third for establishing this year's crops and buying new stock, and that leaves a sixth part over for minor repairs needing done—that leaves this portion for my personal needs. Does that look right to you, my lords?"

"That seems reasonable," Derry agreed. Alaric nodded, taking a sip of his port.

"So," Celsie said beaming, turning to the Earl. "I'm in need of a good ride, and I'm told you're just the man who can help me with that."

Alaric nearly choked. Derry stifled a grin.

"I know I'll need to reserve enough of this for living expenses here and the like, but have I enough saved up?" She turned concerned eyes towards the Duke. "Your Grace, are you all right?"

Alaric Morgan nodded, finally catching his breath. "Went down the wrong way. Excuse me for just a moment." He stood and left the room.

"So," Derry said after a moment, blue eyes gleaming with mirth. "You're wanting a horse? Yes, you've enough saved up, and I'll be glad to assist with that."

"Oh good!" She stared towards the door, bemused, as the sounds of muffled laughter came from behind it. "What in the world?" She turned back to Derry in confusion.

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm certain Duchess Richenda will explain that to you later, sweeting."

#

"Well, now tha' I've just had my hands all up yer chemise, ye think there's a hope yer Contessa will let ye out ridin' wi' me?" Jass teased, handing back the last of the garments he'd helped repair.

"Not if you're planning on asking her _that _way," Ailidh retorted, though she had to force down a laugh. "Jass, _pretend _you're civilized!"

"I _am _civilized! Just watch me." He stood, making his way over to where the Contessa was weaving lace. "My Lady, might I be permitted to take my cousin out for some fresh air?"

Constanza frowned up at him. "Where do you intend to go?"

"Just a short distance beyond the city wall and back again, my Lady. There's a lovely bay mare in the stables in need of exercise, and it's a beautiful day. I thought Ailidh might enjoy taking her through her paces."

Stanzi sighed. "Sir Jass, the last time I allowed you to take Ailidh outside the castle walls, you brought her back quite late. And at any rate, Celsie and Sophie are both away, so I have no one to send with you."

"I believe there's also a rather nice roan available, if you'd care to come along?" Jass said, adding his most winning smile.

"Not this time. The castle garden is far enough for now, if you wish to take Ailidh outside for some fresh air."

Jass bowed. "Thank you, my Lady." He returned to Ailidh''s side. "She still doesnae know what tae make o' me, does she?" He offered her a hand up.

"Maybe she's asked around and heard about your reputation," Ailidh half joked, though she, too, was baffled by Constanza's coolness towards Sir Jass. She'd not reacted so towards Sir Seisyll, or even towards Sir Stefan, though Sophie had privately told her house-sisters that their guardian might well have had better cause for caution there.

"Well, if she's done tha', I'm even _more_ baffled. I may tease a bit, but there's far an' away worse rakehells at Rhemuth than I am."

"Of course there are. Because you're as pure as the driven snow," Ailidh whispered as he escorted her out of the apartment.

"Aye, I _am_!" The whiskey colored eyes twinkled. "Well, all right, maybe the driven-_over_ snow. But only _lightly _driven over..."

Ailidh rolled her eyes at him.

Jass led Ailidh downstairs and through several corridors until they reached a back door that led into the gardens. "Oh, I didn't know this route!" Ailidh informed him.

"Which way do you know?" he asked.

"The main one, with the entrance that comes in near the Great Hall. And there's a way down through the...um...back passages as well."

He raised a brow at her. "The same back passages you used that night to-" He broke off suddenly, taking a look around to make sure no one else was in earshot. "To visit Dhugal?"

She flushed slightly, looking away. "Aye."

"How do you know so much about the back passages?" he asked, studying her curiously.

Ailidh shrugged. "We mapped them. Or tried, anyway. They're quite complex; I'm sure we've missed some."

Jass gave her a quizzical smile. "I'm sure _that's_ not part of your Deryni training. Doing a bit of extra practice on the side?"

"Mayhap." Ailidh glanced up at him. "It's a bit hypocritical of the Contessa to fuss and fret so much over you wanting to take me anywhere. It's not like _I'm_ the one who's-"

"Who's what?"

She bit her lip, looking down at her feet. "Sneaking out of bed at night to visit a man." She looked back up at Jass. "Whatever you might have thought that night, that's not why I went."

Jass drew her into a shadowed alcove, still watching warily for anyone else's approach. "I know it wasnae." He smoothed a curly lock of hair away from Ailidh's face. "Is tha' how ye discovered th' passages? By seein' th' Contessa use them?"

She sighed. "I shouldn't have said that, Jass. But still, it's not fair."

"Mayhap not. Then again, th' Contessa could hae some perfectly innocent reason for bein' out an' about late at night. Ye might be leapin' tae conclusions, lass."

"In her night-rail and dressing gown?" Ailidh asked skeptically.

"I seem tae recall ye turnin' up in yer night-rail an' a cloak," Jass countered.

Ailidh shook her head. "No. Celsie accidentally put a spell on Lord Derry—no, don't ask—and he admitted he and Constanza are having a dalliance."

"Ah." Jass drew Ailidh to a nearby bench. "Well, so mayhap they are. Then again, lass, mayhap tha' explains why she'd want tae be more careful wi' ye."

"'Do what I say, not what I do?'" Ailidh asked bitterly.

Jass chuckled. "Well, there's tha' as well. But do ye think a dalliance wi' th' Earl o' Derry is goin' tae lead tae anythin' lastin'?"

Ailidh snorted. "No. At least in _her_ case, it can't. Sophie says the Contessa can't have children, and wouldn't he need to wed for heirs?"

"But I'll hazard a guess, if she's sneakin' out at all hours tae be wi' him, chances are she's in love wi' him. An' I imagine it would smart a bit, bein' in love wi' someone an' knowin' there's nae future in it, but makin' yerself available nonetheless because it's th' only way ye can have any o' him at all. Ye'd want to spare anyone else in yer care_ tha'_ sort o' hurt, wouldnae ye?"

"I...suppose you might be right. I hadn't looked at it that way. Still, it's hardly flattering to you that she treats you as if she thinks you're some dastardly seducer ready to make off with me at any moment."

A mischievous grin. "Maybe I should live up tae her expectations, then. Hae ye ever heard o' th' Reivers' Courtship Ritual?"

"The what?"

"Th' Reivers' Courtship." Without warning, he scooped the Border girl up over one shoulder, laughing as she squealed and began to flail at his back. He raced across a short distance of garden courtyard, yelling "Mine! Mine! Mine!"

"Put me _down_, Jass MacArdry; are ye daft?!" Ailidh exclaimed between breathless giggles. He found another shadowed alcove and complied. "Oh yes, _that's _goin' to help matters, once word gets back tae th' Contessa!"

"You _bit_ me!" he said, grinning down at her.

"You were actin' like a reiver; o' _course_ I bit ye!" she replied, grinning broadly back up at him.

His grin faded. He took a step closer to her, his eyes studying her face intently.

"Jass..."

"_Chuisle._" He lowered his face to hers, stringing a trail of soft kisses along her brow and down one cheek.

"Jass, I don't-"

He silenced her with a kiss; a gentle one, just enough to stop the flow of words. She broke it off, staring up at him disconcerted.

"I love Dhugal, Jass."

"Aye, I know. An' yer off men for life; ye've said it enough times, lass. Still, ye dinnae exactly hate tha' just now, did ye?"

She flushed, looking away.

"Ailidh, there's nae future in Dhugal for ye; ye know tha'. I'm offerin' ye a future wi' me, if ye're willin' tae take it." He kissed her hand lightly. "Ye may no' be ready tae gi' me an answer on tha' now, an' tha's fine, but I told ye I'd be tryin'."

"You said you'd be trying for my smiles, that you knew I wasn't ready for anything else!"

"Aye." He grinned down at her roguishly. "Well, once I've wedded ye and bedded ye good and proper, I reckon ye'll hae somethin' tae smile about."

"Jass MacArdry!" Her gray-green eyes flashed as she glared up at him. To her horror, she felt tears begin to prick her eyes. She whirled away, hoping to hide them, but the concern in his voice told her she'd been too late.

"Ailidh?" Jass turned her back to face him, enfolding her in his arms. "Lass, I'm sorry. I never meant tae frighten ye."

"You didnt," she muttered into his shirt.

He stroked her hair. "What is it, then?"

She pounded on his chest with her fist, leaning back to glare angrily up at his face. "I don't want to _feel_ that way again! It hurts too much."

"Lassie..." Jass cradled her face in his hands. "It only hurts so much because ye've given yer whole heart an' ne'er got more than half a man in return. Callum gave ye his body, but never his heart. Dhugal's right fond o' ye, but his heart belongs tae someone else, and he's too honorable a man tae use ye as Callum did. _ I'm_ offerin' ye _all _of me, Ailidh, if ye'll have me."

"I don't know why you'd want to, Jass," she said bitterly. "You'd hardly get a whole woman back in return."

"Tha's all right. Yer no' whole yet because ye havenae found th' other half tha' completes ye. I'm hopin' ye'll find someday that _I'm_ tha' other half. If ye do, then I'll have a whole woman." He traced her lips lightly with a thumb. "Let me_ love _ye, Ailidh. No' just make love tae you. There'll be time enough for tha' once ye trust me more."

"What's the difference?"

He laughed softly. "Oh, _chuisle mo chridhe_, tha's like askin' th' difference between torchlight and th' sun."

#

"Well, are we done here?" Alaric Morgan stood.

"I think that's it for now," Derry replied, also standing and offering a hand up to Celsie. "I'll write a letter to your steward tomorrow to let him know what's been decided...unless _you'd_ rather do that?"

"I probably should," Celsie agreed, "though I'd like you to look it over before I send it, to make sure I've not missed anything."

Derry nodded. "I can do that."

Alaric opened the door. "If you don't mind walking Celsie back, Derry, I have a beautiful blonde maiden of my own awaiting me." He grinned. "I told Briony I'd bring her down to see the fire jugglers. They're supposed to be back tonight."

Derry laughed. "Well, you'd best not keep her waiting, then." He offered his arm to Celsie, who took it with a demure smile.

"Good night, Your Grace!"

"Good night, Celsie."

The Duke departed. Derry walked Celsie back across the short distance between their apartments. As they walked back, Derry said, "Lady Celsie, I'm embarrassed to admit this, because I know how much hard work you put into my Christmas gift, but I appear to have misplaced it. I think it must have fallen out of my doublet somehow. When you have time, do you think you could stitch me a replacement?"

Celsie stopped in her tracks, looking up at the Earl in consternation. "Oh! Um...I _could_, but..." She turned crimson. "I'll have to ask first. The last time I made one, I...ah...made rather a muck of the spell work somehow..."

"All right," Derry said, looking somewhat baffled. "There's no hurry. Maybe the first one will turn up."

_I certainly hope not!_ Celsie thought, feeling a bit sick at the thought.

"I just hate that you put so much time and care into it, and I've lost it," Derry said, his eyes filled with apology.

"Well..." Celsie had a flash of inspiration. "Have you a handkerchief on you now?"

"Yes," Derry said, "but it's just a plain one." He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a plain white square of cambric.

Celsie took the fabric, holding it close to her heart. She closed her eyes and breathed a silent prayer over it, then opened them again, kissing the handkerchief reverently and giving it back. The Earl watched her curiously.

"Another sort of spell?" he asked.

Celsie laughed. "Oh, no! No, just a prayer. I doubt it will protect you in the same way as a spell would, but God heard, and maybe it will work anyway."

Derry chuckled. "Maybe it will." He tucked it back into his doublet and held out his arm to walk her the rest of the way home.


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_Seisyll...you still asleep?_

_ No. Dead of old age. About time you reported back._

_ Smartass!_ Sextus Arilan, or his image at least, grinned at his brother in a dream-vision.

_What's the news from Nyford?_

Sextus's image turned slightly to one side, as if listening for some distant sound, then turned his attention back towards his brother. Or, presumably, his brother's image reflected in his shiral. _The brigands you're asking after belong to a band called 'Rimbaud's Men.' Most have been hunted down and brought to justice by the Earl's men, but there's a small handful still at large. Maybe three or four at most, but that includes Rimbaud himself. They're mostly lying low now; I doubt they have sufficient numbers to be a problem anymore. Shall I leave them alone, or pursue anyway?_

Seisyll considered the question. _I'd rather not have us get directly involved,_ he said at last, _but if you should discover where the stragglers are holed up, make sure Carthane gets word of that. _

Sextus smiled. _Oh, let's just say I've been dropping a few hints here and there already. There's a reason Carthane's men were able to round up so many of the ruffians so quickly. Not that they weren't doing quite well on their own, but I might have...expedited things just a bit._

The dream Seisyll nodded in satisfaction. _Good lad! Well, in that case, once you've pointed the Earl's men to where the rest have gone to ground, I don't think there's any need for you to continue on in Nyford._

_ Thank God! A boring place, Nyford. The ale's nearly as sour as the women here._

_ Oh? Tell me you're not lodging at the Fox and Hounds._

_ I am. Why?_

_ Well, that's _why_, man! Try the Royal Arms Inn._

Sextus's image gave an eyeroll. _And _now_ you tell me! See if I do _you_ another favor anytime soon._

Seisyll Arilan chuckled in his sleep.

#

"Running through the Castle gardens with Ailidh slung over your shoulder! Sweet Jesú, Sir Jass, what were you thinking?"

The Transha knight faced down the Contessa's ire. "I wasn't, my Lady. I was caught up in the moment."

Constanza stared up at him, taken aback. "Well, at least you're honest about _that_!" she finally muttered. She turned to stare out a window for a long moment, reining in her temper. "If I might ask," she finally said, her voice clipped with exasperation, "what _is _your exact relationship to my charge?"

He sighed. "Fifth cousins, I believe. I've not fully worked it out yet, but it's not all that close a kinship."

"I see. And why, then, have you allowed me to believe you shared a closer kinship than that? I have allowed you on several occasions—against my better judgment, I might add!-to escort her in public without a chaperone close by. You _must_ have known I would never have permitted that, if I knew there was so little kinship between you."

"Aye, my lady, I did." Jass took a deep breath. "Permission to speak freely, my Lady?"

The Contessa arched a dark eyebrow at Jass. "Oh, indeed! Full honesty is what I dearly desire from you, Sir Jass...for once."

The young knight colored slightly but continued to meet her gaze. "Madam, as you'll recall, I never specified the degree of kinship between myself and Ailidh. You assumed it was closer than it was, and yes, I allowed you to assume that. I was wrong in that, but it was quite apparent from our first meeting that, for reasons completely unknown to me, you had taken an instant dislike to me, or at best a strong suspicion. My intentions towards your ward are entirely honorable; I wish to wed the lass. But I can hardly hope to persuade her if I'm not permitted to spend time with her. And a courtship is difficult even under more ideal circumstances, but if you'll permit me to point it out, you appear to be far stricter with Ailidh than with your other charges. I've observed, for example, that you allow Sir Seisyll the privilege of venturing out with Lady Sophie from time to time, and certainly they share no degree of kinship at all."

"That's different!" the Contessa protested.

"Aye? How so?"

Constanza looked briefly nonplussed. "Well...because Sir Seisyll has already established my trust. And because Lady Sophie is less wayward than Ailidh. Mistress Ailidh needs a firmer hand."

"I'll agree that Ailidh is a spirited lass, but I wouldn't go so far as to call her wayward, my Lady. With all due respect, she's simply young and...feisty." He suppressed a smile.

"She acts without thinking, and is more likely to land herself into trouble without meaning to."

Jass bowed his head. "I'll concede that point."

"If I seem extra protective of Ailidh, it's because her impetuosity has led her to great harm in the past."

Jass studied the Contessa a long moment. "If you're referring to Callum MacInnis," he finally said, "I agree. Although I'd call that less a matter of Ailidh's impetuosity than Callum's persistence, having met the bastard."

Constanza stared at Ailidh's suitor in shock. "You..._know_ about that?"

"Aye. It changes nothing, madam."

"Oh." The Contessa regarded him appraisingly. "I'm not certain if that's reassuring or not."

"In other words, you can't decide if my willingness to court a woman most of Gwynedd would consider 'damaged goods' is a sign of my honest love for her, or simply proof that I consider her fair game since she's been tampered with already." Jass's eyes blazed. "Damn it, Lady, how can I possibly prove my intentions are honorable, if you've already decided against me from the outset?

"And how can I _believe_ your intentions are honorable, when you've lied to me—at least by omission—from the very beginning? Oh, don't play the injured party with _me_, Sir Jass! I know your type—handsome and charming, and quite adept at winning a lady's heart. But I have _no_ intention of allowing you to hurt Ailidh. She's been through quite enough already!"

"Indeed she has. But you forgot to factor in a few small details in that damning appraisal of my character, my lady Contessa. I love Ailidh, I intend to marry her, and hurting her is the _last_ thing I intend. I am _courting_ your ward, not sporting with her. And damn it all, woman," he growled, lowering his voice to a near whisper, "I am _not_ the Earl o' Derry! I will wed wi' Ailidh _afore_ I bed her, because I will _never _treat th' lassie like used goods!"

Jass spun on his heel and strode out the apartment door, the Contessa staring in shock at his departing back until the door slammed shut behind him.

#

"What was that last bit he said?" Celsie whispered, trying in vain to hear through the wall.

"Shhh!" Sophie cautioned, her ears also straining to hear the argument in the sitting room. Only Ailidh was silent, leaning against the door, white-faced.

Sophie squeezed her hand as the girls heard the door slam behind Jass. _Are you all right?_ she asked.

_Aye, _Ailidh replied, though she looked shaken by the exchange they overheard.

_Oh Ailidh, I'm so sorry! I quite liked Sir Jass. I can't imagine she'll let him court you now, though. _Celsie's eyes filled with sympathy for her friend.

_Doesn't matter. I'm off men,_ Ailidh mind-spoke dully, drawing her knees up to her chest and laying her face on her knees.

Sophie's eyes met Celsie's in concern. _No, you're not. You're just hurting right now. She'll come around. She_ has _to! And even if she doesn't—well, it's not like we'll be her wards forever, you know! If Sir Jass truly loves you, he'll wait until he can court you freely._

_ What makes you think I even want him?_ Ailidh mind-spoke angrily, her eyes filling with tears.

Celsie looked at Sophie and shook her head with a sad smile before draping an arm around Ailidh. _Because we _know_ you!_

#

Celsie coaxed Ailidh and Sophie into attending the early Mass with her the following morning, suggesting that perhaps their prayers might sway the hearts of whatever saints might be more inclined to mercy towards lovelorn maidens and their suitors. Ailidh doubted that any saints were taking a particular interest in her situation, but she allowed herself to be persuaded, if only because she'd not managed any sleep at all, and might as well be out and about at that hour anyway. The Contessa remained behind, pleading a headache.

Shortly after the maidens left, a knock sounded on the door. Constanza rose to answer it. The visitor was Sir Jass.

"My Lady, I owe you my deepest apologies. I was quite angry when I left here yesterday evening, but that last remark I made was inexcusable."

The Contessa regarded him a long moment. "Yes, it was." She sighed. "But I owe you an apology as well. Come in, Sir Jass." She stood back to let him enter, closing the door behind him.

Jass looked around the sitting room. "Your ladies...?"

"Are at Mass." Constanza gestured towards the chairs. "Have a seat, my lord."

Jass sat, his whiskey-colored eyes watching as she sank slowly into a chair across from his.

"Sir Jass, you were right. I _was _comparing you with...others, perhaps unfairly. However, you were less than fully honest with me, and no matter what your reasons were, I hope you'll allow that makes it more difficult for me to trust you?"

"Aye, my Lady. I do regret that."

She sighed, looking past him to stare out the window. "How...well known is my...association with Lord Derry?" A sudden sheen of tears filled her eyes, and she blinked to clear them.

He studied his boots, giving the Contessa time to regain her composure. "It's not public gossip, so far as I've heard, my Lady," he assured her quietly. "Your wards know, though." He looked up at her. "Ailidh didn't mean to let it slip, so don't be hard on the lass. She was just upset because she felt you were treating me unfairly."

"I see." She bit her lip, silent for a short while. Finally she looked back up at the knight.

"I will allow you to court Ailidh, but I would prefer for you to do so within my sight, or at least always in the company of one of her other house-sisters. I realize you might find that restrictive, in light of the greater freedom I have allowed Sophie, but Ailidh..."

"Is Ailidh?" Jass quirked a wry smile at her.

A quiet laugh. "Yes, indeed. And _you_ still need to prove to me that I can trust you with her."

"I shall do my utmost to prove myself, my Lady."

#

Constanza raised her hand to knock before her courage failed her entirely. Instead, the door opened without warning, revealing the apartment's occupant, startled to see her there.

"Stanzi?"

"May I come in, Sean?"

Derry stepped back, waving her in. "Of course. I've only got a few minutes, though." He did a quick study of her, frowning slightly as he noticed her distressed look. "What's wrong, sweeting?"

"I...won't be by tonight."

"Oh? Well, that's all right. Kelson's sprung an unexpected meeting on me, and chances are it's going to run a little late."

The Contessa shook her head. "No, I mean..." She turned away, picked up an objet d'art on display, turning it in her hands and setting it back down. "I need to make a clean break, Sean."

"Oh." He studied her, puzzled. "Well, if that's what you want..."

"It's not." She looked up at him. "My wards know."

Stunned understanding in his blue eyes. "Oh. Damn. I'm sorry, Stanzi. How?"

Her eyes slid away. "I'm...not entirely certain."

He drew her close, kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, sweeting. Hopefully it's gone no further. Nothing's come back to me, if it has." He stroked her hair. "Are they upset?"

"I don't know. They've not actually said anything directly to _me_." She drew away. "But I can hardly expect them to listen to anything I have to say about not allowing their suitors any liberties, if..." She laughed hollowly. "You understand."

He nodded, smiling ruefully. "I suppose not." He kissed her hand. "I'm quite fond of you, Stanzi. I hope we can still continue as friends?"

"I hope so." She closed her eyes. "Except...I might need a little time, Sean. I haven't been fully honest with you about something."

"What's that?"

She gave a dry chuckle. "I fell in love with you, despite my best intentions and against my better judgment." Constanza reached up to stroke Derry's cheek. "So it's for the best if we break things off now, before the situation gets any messier than it is already."

"Stanzi..." Derry looked like a man who'd just taken a blow to the gut. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know, _caro mio_." She kissed him tenderly. "Don't worry about me, Sean. I've lost enough men in my life; I've gotten used to it by now. Time heals all wounds, you know."

She left. Derry leaned against the door for a while after her departure, feeling strangely empty.


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Celsie, on her way back to her apartment from early Mass, stopped short at the sight of baggage in the corridor only a short distance from her door. The curly haired figure ahead of her turned at her approach.

"Lord Derry?" The demoiselle stared at the packed bags, then lifted her eyes to his. "Are you traveling somewhere?"

"Good morning, Lady Celsie." Derry gave the maiden a faint smile as he bowed over her hand. "Yes, I'm heading home. I've left a few matters in Derry I need to attend to in person."

"Oh!" Her blue eyes looked perplexed. "But…I thought you'd be traveling with Duke Alaric and Duchess Richenda when they return to Coroth in a few weeks!"

He shrugged, turning away momentarily to direct a squire who had arrived to carry his bags down to the stables. "I'll be heading to Coroth next. I'll probably arrive there shortly after they do."

"I see." She stared at the squire's departing back. "Does…does the Contessa know you're leaving so soon?" Celsie asked, forcing her eyes back up to Derry's.

He glanced away. "She does." Derry bent to pick up a remaining bag. "If you'll excuse me, Lady Celsie…." He turned to follow the squire.

"Sean!"

Sean Earl Derry turned back to face the demoiselle. "I've not forgotten your horse, sweeting. I'll keep an eye out for a good one for you next time next time I'm at the horse fair."

"I….Thank you, my Lord. But I was just going to say 'Safe travels.' And I'll…." She swallowed back tears. "I'll replace your handkerchief as soon as I'm allowed."

"Celsie…." Derry put down his bag, walked the short distance to the demoiselle, and gathered her into his arms. "There's no rush." He tilted her chin up. "Be a good lass for Constanza, and mind your lessons, all right?"

"All right," she whispered. "Be careful. It's still icy out. Is this cloak going to be warm enough?"

He chuckled. "Yes. Now you sound like my mother."

"Well, _someone_ needs to care for you!"

He released her, studying her face a long moment. "I'll be fine, sweeting."

#

"So, he's taken a turn for the worse?"

Sir Seisyll looked down at Sophie's concerned hazel eyes. "Yes. The Royal Physician was called in this morning. He's not expecting the Baron to survive past the week. I went to tell Stefan the news as soon as I heard."

"Poor Lisette!" Sophie turned away, looking troubled. "I should call on her, see if she needs anything."

Seisyll put an arm around her. "I think, at this point, what she wants most is just to be able to spend the remaining time with her father. But I'm sure she'll be grateful for your company later."

"He wanted to see her safely wed," Sophie reminded him.

Seisyll nodded. "Bishop Duncan has agreed to marry them in the Baron's bedchamber later this evening. It won't be a standard wedding celebration, of course, given the circumstances, though maybe once her mourning is done, they can throw some sort of fête later, if they're so inclined. Stefan said he'd send word down when the time comes for me to bring you."

Seisyll led Sophie to a garden alcove, wrapping his cloak around them both to give her more protection against the winter chill. "Don't fret, sweeting. They'll both be fine. Stefan seems to be quite taken with her."

"Yes. I hope she's equally taken with _him_; she'll be all alone in the world once her father's gone, poor girl! At least I've a brother left." Her eyes filled with sorrow as she remembered her own recent loss.

Seisyll turned Sophie to face him, wrapping his arms around her underneath the cloak. "You have me also, don't forget." He bent to kiss her, tenderly at first, then with growing ardor as her hands shyly traveled up his chest to encircle his neck. He began to extend his shields to envelop her within them, hoping to establish a link with her, when she took a sudden step back, raising her eyes to his in surprise.

"Oh!" Her cheeks turned rosy.

"I'm sorry, love; did I startle you?" The knight's blue-violet eyes sparkled with amusement.

"No…well, maybe just a little. Was that a Deryni thing just now?"

He tilted his head at her. "Was _what_ a Deryni thing? Extending my shields?"

"Well, no…I figured _that_ out. No, I meant that fluttery thing." She frowned thoughtfully. "I've only ever felt it when I'm with you, and once or twice around Bishop Duncan."

He stepped slightly back to look at her. "Around _Duncan_?" he asked, sounding as if he were half strangling on a laugh.

"Yes. Why?" Her hazel eyes were suddenly wary. Seisyll's gleamed with unholy glee.

"Hm. I'm not sure. Let me see if I can produce those results again." He drew her back into his embrace, this time establishing the rapport between them before pulling her into a more passionate kiss. It had the desired effect. Seisyll pulled back with a chuckle. "_That_ 'fluttery thing'?"

"Yes," Sophie answered, looking slightly dazed and leaning on his chest for support, as her knees felt a bit wobbly. "Only…well, obviously _he's_ never kissed me!"

Seisyll laughed. "Sweet Jesú, I certainly hope not!" He ran a fingertip down Sophie's flushed cheek. "So, you have a bit of a tendresse for the Bishop, I take it?"

She averted her eyes, turning crimson. "No! Well…." She swallowed. "Maybe just a little one," she admitted. "He _is_ rather handsome, and quite nice."

Her suitor gave a rueful grin. "It's a good thing you have very tight shields then, my sweet innocent. That's not a Deryni thing, sweeting; it's an attraction thing." He chuckled. "If men in cassocks give you the flutters, remind me not to introduce you to my Uncle Denis until _after_ we're wed!"

Sophie gaped at him, shocked. "Seisyll! Men in cassocks do _not _give me-"

He silenced her with another kiss, his arms tightening around her, pressing her gently but firmly against him as he drew her back into rapport. Eventually she recovered enough presence of mind to realize that something else was growing between them which had nothing at all to do with Deryni powers. She pushed away, brushing a lock of hair away from her face with a trembling hand.

Seisyll grinned. "Now, aren't you glad _I've_ not entered holy orders?"

Sophie glanced around, her face burning, to make sure they were still unobserved. "Seisyll, we have to stop!"

"All right." He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes gleaming with mirth. "So, is Duncan your confessor, or Father Nivard?"

"Seisyll!"

The young knight laughed as he offered his arm to escort his lady back into the safety of the Castle.

#

Sir Jass sat in the window embrasure with Ailidh, playing a game of _Fox and Hounds_ with her. "Your move," he said quietly, leaning back to watch her as she frowned at the board, trying to determine where to move the fox next.

"I wish we _could _go on a fox hunt," she whispered. "I'm tired of being cooped up in here."

Jass glanced into the sitting room. The Contessa was sitting by the fireplace, her embroidery lying in her lap, neglected. The lady stared into the flames, her mind clearly elsewhere.

"Maybe next time th' King calls a hunt, she'll let ye go wi' me."

"Aye, you think? And maybe cows fly." Ailidh sighed.

"They may, but ye'd need a strong catapult."

Ailidh laughed. Her eyes returned to the game board. After a moment, she moved her piece. Jass advanced one of his hounds by one square.

She shook her head. "You'll have me trapped before I get to the other end of the board."

"Tha' _is_ th' objective, lass. Pretend tha' I'm tryin' tae corner ye for a kiss, then," he teased, keeping his voice low. "Tha' should gi' ye ample motivation tae avoid me, since ye're off men an' all."

"Right," she said, blushing slightly. "Or it might just inspire me to go ahead and surrender, since you're going to corner me anyway."

He raised a brow. "Did th' lady just admit she'd nae mind bein' cornered?"

"I didn't say _that, _either! Just saying you're…persistent."

"I see. Is tha' th' nice way o' sayin' I'm stubborn?"

Ailidh laughed softly.

Jass took her hand and raised it to his lips, the game forgotten. He took a cautious glance towards the sitting room, but the Contessa still sat by the fireplace, her back to them. He raised his free hand to Ailidh's face, stroking a curl away from her cheek. "Ailidh, _mo nighean_, you've mind-linked wi' yer house-sisters, aye?" His eyes searched her face.

"Aye, of course!"

He swallowed, darting another glance at the Contessa. "Would ye consider linkin' up wi' a regular human? It would make private conversation easier, if we could just talk mind tae mind. Unless _she'd_ know and disapprove, o' course. I'd nae want to get ye intae trouble wi' her."

Ailidh looked startled at first, then thoughtful. "You…wouldn't mind?"

"Nay, I'd nae mind, lass." He grinned. "Actually, I suspect there'd be certain advantages. No' tha' tha's why I'm askin' ye."

"What sort of-?" Her eyes widened. "Jass!"

He kissed her palm. "It was just a thought. I'd no' take advantage. Well, no' until we're wed, anyway, in which case I'll take _full_ advantage…." The grin grew.

She snatched her hand back. "You're assuming I'll wed you!"

"I'm hopin', aye. I've never made a secret o' _tha',_ now have I?" The whiskey-golden eyes danced. "But I'm only askin' for th' privacy, lass. I'm tired o' speakin' in whispers all th' time."

"Oh, and the Contessa won't suspect anything if we just sit here for hours not saying a word aloud?" Ailidh rolled her eyes.

Jass chuckled. "Just think on it."

Ailidh dropped her eyes back to the board. "I believe it's your move."

"Nay, it's yours."

"Oh." She lay her fingertip on her fox, trying to figure out the safest direction to move next. "You're not afraid of Deryni magic?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"Should I be?" Jass watched as she decided on a move, then released the game piece. "Dhugal links with me."

Her gray-green eyes flew up to meet his. "Truly?"

"Aye." He shrugged. "Sometimes it's necessary. Or at least there are times it's been helpful. An' I trust him, else I'd no' follow him."

"Well, of _course_, but…." She shook her head. "I'm still not used to thinking of Dhugal as Deryni." She laughed softly. "Sometimes I'm not used to thinking of _myself _as Deryni, yet. Let me think on it. I've never tried to link with a human before, and I don't know if it's the same or differe-" Ailidh broke off as she noticed the sudden transfixed look on Jass's face. He stared past her for a long moment, then seemed to shake himself back into awareness of his surroundings.

"Speakin' o' Dhugal, lass, I need tae go." Jass stood abruptly, bending to give her a quick hand kiss.

"What's wrong?" Ailidh asked, growing alarmed by the sudden serious look on his face.

"I'm no' sure yet, but Dhugal's needin' us. His men, tha' is. Somethin' about needin' tae make ready for a ride tae Porgonnedd."

Ailidh's alarm grew. "Porgonnedd? In _Pelagog_? _This_ time o' year?"

"Aye," Jass confirmed, his jaw set. "I'll send a message down once I know more, if there's time." He turned and raced out the door, leaving her to stare agape after him.

#

"I now pronounce you man and wife." Duncan watched as the young bridegroom took his tearful bride into his arms, holding her close to whisper soft words of comfort in her ear. He turned to the Baron de Courcy, who gave him a weak smile of gratitude between labored breaths.

"Is there anything more I can do?" the Bishop asked him quietly.

"Aye. Hear my confession, but it can wait until they're gone." The golden-brown eyes rested on his daughter and her new husband. "I hope I've done the right thing by her," he whispered softly for Duncan's ears alone.

Duncan turned to watch the young couple. "I believe you have. He's grown to care for her already. It's a start."

"Yes. All things have their beginnings and endings." He squeezed the Bishop's hand. "I believe you've a bed to bless now." The Baron de Courcy gave a wry smile. "I promise not to go anywhere."

#

Sophie and Sir Seisyll walked the newlywed couple back to Sir Stefan's small apartment, where they would be starting their married life. Once there, Sophie entered the bedchamber with her new sister-in-law, helping her unpack the small bag of possessions she had brought with her and laying out her night-rail.

"This is beautiful," she said, smiling at Lisette.

"Thank you," the bride whispered shyly. "It was my mother's once."

Sophie felt suddenly helpless, wishing she knew what to say to comfort Stefan's bride. Wishing also that she'd thought to bring the Contessa along, for she had no idea what advice would be helpful for a young bride, having never been one herself yet. "I...assume your mother told you what to expect? Or mayhap your father?"

Lisette smiled wanly. "I know." She laughed softly. "This is awkward, isn't it?"

"Very!" Sophie agreed.

Lisette donned the heirloom garment and slipped under the covers, fingering the edge of the top sheet nervously.

There was a knock on the door. "Lady Lisette, may I enter, or do you need more time?" Sophie, remembering that Lisette would be unable to hear the knock or the speaker's voice, repeated the question to her.

She gripped Sophie's hand. "Enter."

The Bishop walked in. "My Lady," he said, his eyes filled with compassion for her, "Stefan asked me to let you know that if you simply want the bed blessing tonight, he is willing to wait longer to consummate the marriage. He doesn't wish to cause you further distress if you need more time."

She bit her lip, considering the offer. "No. Father would want me to be truly wed, and I'd not wish to lie." The bride raised uncertain eyes to the Bishop. "Unless my husband needs more time, of course. I'll yield to his wishes."

Duncan nodded. "I'll let him know," he said quietly.

#

The blessing bestowed, the guests quickly departed, not extending their stay with the traditional songs of celebration that would be inappropriate under the circumstances. Stefan took his bride's hand.

_I'm sorry, sweeting. I wish... A wedding should be a happier occasion. I wish I could've given you that._

_ It's not your fault. _She tried to smile. _I know it's not what either of us hoped for, but at least it's done now. Or...well, _almost_ so._

He drew her close. _Are you certain you don't want to wait?_

She nodded. _I'll only grow more nervous if I do._ Lisette's eyes shone like gold in the candlelight. _I trust you, Stefan._

_ Lisette..._ Stefan swallowed. _I don't know much about marriage yet, but I know it's as much about sharing one's sorrows as it is about sharing one's joys. Right now, we both have our sorrows, but there'll be joys to come._

_ I know._ She laid her head against his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath her cheek.

_I hope, if I can't make the sorrow go away entirely, at least I can help you forget it for a time._

He kissed his bride tenderly as she surrendered herself into his caring hands.


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"We're ridin' out within th' hour." Jass held Ailidh's hands in his, his whiskey-colored eyes searching hers. "I dinnae know yet when we'll return, but my guess is, no' until th' spring thaw at th' earliest. You can get a message to me in Transha, though; it will get forwarded to Porgonnedd if we're still there instead." He lifted her fingertips to his lips, kissing each hand in turn. "You'll write, aye? I cannae promise prompt replies, but I'll send ye word back as I can."

"What's happened, Jass?" Ailidh's eyes reflected her worry. "Dhugal wouldn't be riding north this time of year unless the need is urgent."

Jass nodded. "It's Caldreana. She's wi' child, an' there's somethin' gone wrong. Th' midwife's stopped her labor for now, or at least tha's th' last we've heard o' th' matter, but there's some danger tae the bairn an' tae Caldie as well. She cannae leave her bed until th' babe is born, which wasnae supposed tae happen for some months yet. Dhugal doesnae know if he can help or no'-he's a Healer, but he's trained as a battle surgeon, no' a midwife. But still, Caldie's like a sister tae him. She may really be his aunt, but he grew up thinkin' o' her as his twin."

Ailidh nodded, blinking away tears. "I know. I grew up with her, remember?"

"Aye." Jass drew her close, for once heedless of the Contessa's watchful eyes. "I'll send word back once we know more."

_That will take forever! I want to go with you,_ Ailidh sent into his mind.

Jass drew back to look at her, carefully concealing his startlement at Ailidh's unexpected mind-speech from her watching guardian. _Ye cannae, chuisle. Dhugal'd never allow it, and he doesnae want anythin' tae slow us down on our ride,_ he thought carefully, hoping that she'd be able to read him. Aloud, he added, "If ye want tae help, I'm sure Caldie would appreciate a few prayers right now. This is her first babe, an' she's hopin' tae give Lord Philo an heir."

#

"Don't you want to go down to the Great Hall with us for supper?" Sophie asked, concerned.

"No. I'm not very hungry. And anyway, I'm hoping I can get a quick note to Caldie written, so Jass can take it with him to Pelagog."

Celsie hugged Ailidh. "I'm so sorry about your friend! I hope she'll be all right. Shall we bring something back up for you?"

"I suppose," the Border girl said distractedly.

The other ladies left with the Contessa. Ailidh sat in the silent bedchamber, quill in hand, staring at the blank parchment not knowing quite what to say. At last, the thoughts formed—not the note she'd originally intended to send, but a different idea altogether—and she began to write, setting the words to paper in a quick, decisive scrawl, dusting it lightly with pounce to set the ink.

She flew then to her storage chest, throwing back the lid and rummaging to the bottom of it for garments unworn for several months. Swiftly, not giving herself time for second thoughts, she gathered these together into a rough pack except for one change of clothing, which she set apart to wear. That done, she changed into the old garments, muttering a bit at the snug fit. She folded the gown she'd been wearing and placed it in the trunk, replaced soft slippers with worn leather boots, added a dagger and scabbard to her belt, and threw a black hooded cloak over the whole.

The letter, she folded and placed on the sitting room sideboard, where it would hopefully be seen once the Contessa and her house-sisters returned from their meal. There was one more thing left to do. Reaching into her sewing basket, she pulled out a pair of shears and a length of cord. It wasn't in Transha colors, but it would do for the moment.

Her tasks done, she slipped out through the back corridors, not stopping until she reached the stables. Once there, she found a shadowy corner and paused, pulling her long auburn curls back and plaiting them into a sufficient length to double back on itself and be tied into a Border braid. The excess, she carefully snipped off with her shears, then secured the remaining braid back with the cord. The effect wasn't perfect, but would suffice for the moment, concealed as it would be under the hood of her cloak.

The rest of her shorn hair, she stuffed under some loose straw, hoping no curious groom would take notice of it until she was well under way.

A few careful inquiries of a stable lad revealed that Duke Dhugal and his men had just departed not two minutes before. Passing herself off as one of their men-at-arms, unavoidably delayed, she managed to convince the lad to make a horse ready for her, blurring his memories and adding a bit of subtle persuasion to aid her efforts along. He told her they had made straight for the North Road, and she nodded her thanks, making sure before she left that he would have no memories of seeing a Border lass, just—if pressed for details—a lone Transha youth pressed for time and eager to be off to join his traveling companions.

She caught up with Dhugal and his men just within the city gates, easing her horse through the pedestrians and into the rear of their company just as they were leaving Rhemuth. Once clear of the city, the company sped up from a slow trot to a swifter canter, Ailidh keeping pace along with them. So far, in their haste to be away, none had yet noticed the addition of one more Transha rider.

#

When the ladies returned to their apartment, there was a delivery maid waiting just outside the door, her arms laden with gowns. "Deliveries for Lady Celeste de Chervignon and Mistress Ailidh nic Ardry, my ladies," she shyly informed them. "Four new gowns as ordered."

"Oh, those must be the gowns Ailidh and I ordered at that shop Sir Jass showed us!" Celsie dug into her belt pouch, producing a coin to pay the delivery maid with.

The Contessa rapped on the door, but there was no answer. She frowned slightly. "Ailidh must have dozed off," she said, producing a key and letting the girls into the chamber. The delivery maid glanced around the room, setting the gowns down on the nearest flat surface, a sideboard just inside the sitting area. Celsie offered her payment for her services. "Thank you, m'lady!" the maid murmured with a low bob, slipping the coin into her pouch and hastening back towards her shop.

No one noticed the folded note the new garments had pushed to one side. It fell into the narrow space between the sideboard and the wall.

#

The Transha men rode all evening and well into the night. Once beyond the more traversed roads just outside of Rhemuth, Dhugal broke the small group of riders into two sections, the first group leading the way forward, ensuring that the road was safe to travel and that brigands were not lying in wait around each bend. The second group followed a short way behind, close enough to come to the aid of the first if needed, yet lingering just far enough back so that they could sneak up upon any possible ambush from behind, trapping the attacking force between the two groups of Transha men. Ailidh found herself riding in the second group, still lingering at the rear of it. At some point, one of the other riders, old Lambert, had spotted a stray curl of auburn hair peeking out from under her hood, and had assumed she was one of the junior men-at-arms, a lad named Seamidh. Ailidh didn't disabuse him of the notion. Fortunately, the real Seamidh was riding with the first group, so her deception remained undetected for the moment. The riders had slowed their horses to a walk as they came to a rockier stretch of road.

"Where's th' MacArdry plannin' on beddin' down th' night?" one of the men asked, sounding weary.

"Just south o' Littleton, I think, no' tha' much further ahead," Lambert answered. "There's an inn, if it's no' full up by now. If it is, we push on a wee bit further tae the north. There's a stretch o' woods will gie us a bit o' cover from th' winds, if we havetae make camp."

"Jesú, let's hope not! I could use a fire an' a warm bed."

"An' a warm wench too, I'll warrant; aye, Lachlan?"

The men laughed, Ailidh adding a quiet chuckle to ensure her silence didn't draw undue attention.

"Do ye think th' MacArdry'll be able tae heal th' Lady Caldie?" another man asked quietly.

"Well, he's a Deryni, aye? S'gotta be good f'r _somethin'_, ye'd think. I hope he can. She's a bonny thing, is Caldie, an' no' yet wed more'n a year."

"Has it been _that_ long?" another added. "Aye, I s'pose it has. Fast work, then. No' tha' I can blame Lord Philo; _I'd_ hae been on her like a duck on a bug if I thought ol' Cauley'd let me have 'er."

"_Or_ the young laird," old Lambert added. "Mind yer tongue about th' lady 'round Dhugal; he'll no' brook disrespect o' her."

"Aw, hell, nae disrespect intended! I was right sweet on th' lass."

"Well, let's hope th' MacArdry makes as good a midwife as he does a battle surgeon, then!"

The banter continued as the men rode on, growing even more ribald as the men began to joke about the inherent possibilities of the MacArdry chief turning to Deryni midwifery as a sideline. Ailidh stifled a yawn, hoping they'd get to the outskirts of Littleton soon.

"Yer awfully quiet tonight, Seamidh" the man named Lachlan remarked finally. "Cat got yer tongue?"

"Just…don't have that much to say," Ailidh answered, trying to lower her voice to sound more like the lad she was trying to pass herself off as.

Lachlan gave her a second glance, reining in his horse to shorten the distance between them. "Ye're no' ailin', are ye, lad?"

"No, just tired," Ailidh responded. She tried to extend her mental touch across the short distance between them in hopes of redirecting his thoughts so he'd not probe further, but she brushed up against unexpected, if rudimentary, shields. She drew her mind-probe back, startled.

"Damn it, yer no' Seamidh, are ye?"

Another rider had circled back to see what was happening. "Nay, Seamidh's in th' MacArdry's party, I think." He bent to peer under Ailidh's hood. "But if ye're no' Seamidh, who _are _ye?"

Before she could react, Lachlan had drawn his sword, reaching the tip of it under the edge of her hood to flip it back. "Sweet Jesú, it's Jass's wench!"

#

"I'm _not_ Jass's wench!" Ailidh muttered, as old Lambert led her forward toward Dhugal's party, Lachlan riding on her other side to ensure she didn't bolt.

The older man snorted. "Ten tae one says ye will be _now,_ once young Dhugal's done wi' chewin' ye up an' spittin' ye out! Hell, lassie, wha' were ye _thinkin', _trying tae join in wi' us? Ye'll be ruined fer sure, once word gets out ye're missin' from Rhemuth!"

The younger man gave her a sympathetic smile. "Lambert's right, you know, Ailidh. We've days o' hard ridin' ahead o' us, and Dhugal's goin' tae be none tae pleased tae see ye. An' it's a bit late tae be turnin' back at this point. 'Course, if ye dinnae _want_ Jass, _I'll_ offer for ye!" He gave her a teasing wink and a grin.

Lambert rode up ahead, hailing the MacArdry chief. Dhugal reined in, turning his horse around to ride partway back to meet him, Jass following closely behind. The men conferred briefly, then Dhugal shot a quick look directly at Ailidh, his face looking thunderous in the moonlight.

#

"Jass, you're wi' me. Lachlan, ride back an' have th' rest o' th' men rejoin th' lead group; Lambert, ye ride forward an' let Ciard know wha's happened, then once th' rest o' th' men hae joined us, go on ahead an' secure lodgings for us all. South end o' Littleton's just aroun' th' next bend." Gone for the moment was the polished Duke; the irate Border chief had gone full MacArdry.

"An' wha' do we do about _her _lodgin's?"

Dhugal gave an exasperated snort. "Ailidh's stayin' wi' me. She's under my protection..._if_ I dinnae kill 'er first!"

Lambert chuckled. "Good luck wi' that!" The men rode off to obey the MacArdry's orders.

Jass eased his horse closer to Ailidh's. "I thought I told you to stay home," he muttered, whiskey eyes aflame.

She refused to look at him, keeping her eyes forward, bracing herself for Dhugal's onslaught. "I'm no' yours tae order, Jass MacArdry," she whispered.

"Nae, but ye're _mine_ tae order," The MacArdry barked, wheeling his mount around to face her now that he was done with dealing with his men for the moment. "An' ye must hae known I'd never hae allowed ye tae ride out wi' us, Ailidh! Wha' th' devil were ye thinkin'?"

_ "_I was thinkin' tha' my best friend's in danger, an' mayhap in need o' a friend at her side, and nothin' goin' tae stop me from goin' tae her, Dhugal MacArdry, if I have tae go it alone th' rest o' th' way! Ye dinnae truly think I'd just sit aroun' in Rhemuth pushin' needles through cambric and makin' small talk while Caldie's in need, did ye?" Her gray-green eyes flashed back at him. "Ye're bluidy daft if ye did!"

"Ailidh!" Jass shot the lass a warning look.

She glared back. "Dinnae 'Ailidh!' me, Jass; ye've nae say in this."

"Oh, he does _now_!" Dhugal said. He shot a look at his retainer. "Ye said yer courtin' th' lass, aye?"

"Aye, Dhugal, but-"

"Well, she's yours now. We'll be stoppin' in Transha along th' way; there'll be time tae round up Father Keegan if ye can coax him out o' the pubs long enough."

"Father..." Ailidh's eyes widened. "Dhugal, ye cannae-"

Jass's hand clamping down on her arm stopped her short. "No' now, lass!" he whispered, his face set. "Dinnae make things worse for yerself than they already are!"

They followed Dhugal in silence the rest of the way to the inn.

#

Ailidh lay in the unfamiliar bed, listening to Dhugal's and Jass's quiet conference. Dhugal had walked her into the small chamber, asking curtly if she needed help unlacing, and upon being assured that she didn't, had informed her that she'd be given ten minutes, and no longer, to have a change of clothes and a quick rinse at the basin if she wanted one, and that she'd best be abed once he and Jass came back up. Seeing the barely banked fury in his face, for once she'd dared not argue.

They had returned, once they'd stopped by the stables to make sure their horses had been well tended to, and now they sat by the fireplace discussing her fate. Ailidh wasn't sure if they thought she was asleep already, or if they simply didn't care that she wasn't.

"Dhugal," Jass was saying, "I want th' lass, but I'll no' force her. I'm willin' tae wed wi' her—God knows I want tha'!-but is there nae other way than this?"

"She's left me no choice, Jass." A short time away from Ailidh had allowed the MacArdry's temper to cool, but while he'd returned to the more polished diction he'd learned in Rhemuth, the Border Duke sounded no less resolute than he had been earlier. "I can't send her back to Rhemuth; we're too far out now as it is, and there's no way to return her before she's been missed. And we're a small party; I can't spare the escort. Like it or not, once word gets out—and believe me, it will—that she's gone riding off unchaperoned with a rowdy lot of Border men, traveling and—what's worse—bunking down with us for several days and nights, how many people are going to remain unconvinced that she's an innocent lass, and that nothing improper's happened with any of the men? Her reputation will be in ruins, even if I turn her around now and have her back in Rhemuth by daybreak." He shook his head. "There's only two solutions I see for it, Jass. One is to take her on to Transha and leave her there, and not let her return to Rhemuth after—because you know the gossip will still be there whenever she returns, if she goes back unwed. Or I can give her to you—or if she won't have _you_, to any man she _will_ have—in hopes that at least some of the folks back in Rhemuth will consider it an elopement once they learn she's been married. There'll still be gossip, but at least it will die down after a bit, and the matter will be considered properly settled." Dhugal rubbed his forehead as if staving off a headache. "She's not a stupid chit; I'm hoping she'll choose to wed you. It's the better of the two options."

"Aye." Jass sighed. "But dinnae go too hard on her, Dhugal. She's young yet, an' she simply dinnae think it all through."

Dhugal raised an eyebrow at his knight. "Ailidh's no younger than I am, Jass, and_ I _had to learn to think ahead and to assume a man's responsibility at a much younger age. The lass is a woman grown now. She needs to learn to act like one. I'm not saying to break her spirit—God knows no one who cares for Ailidh would want to see _that_—but she could use some settling, Jass." He quirked a wry smile at the slightly older man. "Court her quickly, man. You have two days to win her around."

He stood, reaching into his pouch for a coin. "Let's see who wins the other half of the bed. If _you_ do, you'll be sleeping atop the covers, not under them. Remember, she's still under _my_ protection for two more days at least." He tossed the coin, catching it in mid-air and slapping it onto the back of his hand. "Heads or tails?"

#

Dhugal lay in the darkness of the quiet room, sleep evading him. Beside him, separated only by a handspan and a couple of thin blankets, lay Ailidh, pretending to sleep. He could hear the occasional sniff, and he suspected the lass was trying to hold back tears.

After a while, he couldn't take it anymore.

_Try to get some sleep, lass. We've got a long ride again tomorrow._

Ailidh froze, motionless for a few short moments, then seemed almost to wilt. _I'm sorry, Dhugal. I never meant to cause a problem for you. I just... _Dhugal heard a quiet whimper in the darkness, knew that she'd just swallowed down a sob.

He sighed heavily, then gathered her into his arms for a brief hug. _I know. You wanted to be with Caldie. Well, I suppose you'll have your wish, if you're still feeling up to continuing on further once we've reached Transha._ Ailidh clung to him for a long moment, then Dhugal gently disengaged her arms from around his neck. _Sleep now, lass. Neither of us will be any good for her if we're not well rested by the time we reach Pelagog._

He turned his back to her then, staring into the fireplace instead. Beside it, Jass lay curled up on a makeshift pallet. He also lay awake, arching a dark brow at his chief.

_Sleep, Jass,_ Dhugal mindspoke.

_Aye, I will. An' ye can get yer _own _damn woman, an' leave mine be!_

Dhugal chuckled. _You're welcome to her. God knows I don't need that much trouble! _He closed his eyes and willed himself into slumber.


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

The Contessa's blue-violet eyes sparked with fury when she realized that Ailidh was not asleep in her bedchamber after all, but nowhere to be found. "Sophie, check the Great Hall again," she directed. "Celsie, run to the stables and find out if the MacArdry men have left yet."

"Yes, my Lady," the blonde answered her, voice trembling. "I know Ailidh was planning on sending a note to her friend by way of Sir Jass, but surely they'd have left by now…." She took an involuntary step backwards as her guardian whirled on her. "I'll go check!"

Constanza entered her own bedchamber, searching in a chest until she located her shiral. She forced herself to relax, taking deep steadying breaths as she focused on the amber-colored crystal, concentrating on Ailidh.

Concentrating on Ailidh and the shiral ring she had given the girl at the beginning of her training. By now, she hoped, it would have been worn for long enough to bear something of the girl's imprint on it.

The vision began to form—a black cloaked figure, riding with a group of cloaked men wearing Transha colors, riding steadily away from Rhemuth.

Stanzi bit back a strong epithet as she pulled her attention back to the present.

#

"What can be done, Your Majesty?" the Contessa asked an hour later, once she had managed to secure a private audience with King Kelson.

The King's gray eyes looked thoughtful as he considered the question. "You're quite certain she's eloped?" he asked. "Dhugal knows Sir Jass far better than I, but from what _I_ know of the man..." He shook his head. "It just doesn't _feel _like something Jass would do."

Constanza studied the young monarch for a moment, then reluctantly lifted a hand, cupping it to show him a brief flicker of blue-violet handfire before quenching this outward sign of her power. "I scried for her. She's with a group of riders in Transha colors."

Kelson lifted a sable eyebrow. "Ah." He glanced out a window at the dark landscape beyond. "Well, they set out several hours ago. If Ailidh went with them, there's little way to fetch her back at this point and keep the whole matter quiet. We can _try_..." he added, seeing the protest forming on her face, "but under the circumstances it would probably be best to just let matters take their course. Dhugal will discover her soon enough, and I know my blood brother well enough to know that _he_ would never have given approval to an elopement. I can assure you he'll deal with the matter appropriately, although you're likely to get back a married lady-in-waiting rather than a maiden, assuming he allows her to return to Rhemuth." He studied the Contessa. "How did a MacArdry lass end up as your ward, if I might ask?

She sighed. "Her step-father, Baron Odhran of Marlor, sent her to me to be educated. His mother and I share blood-ties."

"Oh, that's right. Ailidh _did_ mention that when we met, as I recall." He leaned back in his chair. "And your other ladies. How is their Deryni training coming along?"

The Contessa gave him a guarded look. "Your Majesty?"

He smiled faintly. "Come, Contessa Constanza, do you really believe Alaric Morgan would know about a miniature Schola underway under my own roof and _not_ give me a heads-up? He's my Champion, remember; he'd be quite derelict in his duties if he didn't bother to inform me of known Deryni in my own Court."

"I…honestly hadn't given the matter much thought, Sire. I hope it's not a problem that I've undertaken to train them here?"

The steel gray eyes regarded her appraisingly. "Since you're not training them in hopes of plotting against me, no. Gwynedd needs more trained Deryni. But I would have greatly preferred to have been apprised of your plans ahead of time, and to have given my permission more directly." He raised a censuring eyebrow at her.

"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty," the Contessa murmured, looking shaken. "I'd never considered they might be looked upon as a potential threat."

"Lesson learned, then, I hope." The King cupped his chin in his hand. "So. I'm told Lady Celsie shows some aptitude for cording lore?"

"She does. Duchess Richenda and I have been discussing the possibility of sending her to Andelon for further training along those lines."

Kelson nodded. "Yes, that would be of immeasurably greater help to her than any resources you'll find here, I'm afraid. Though I hope to change that, hopefully in the not too distant future." He gave Constanza a measuring look. "If you'll be seeking out a teacher for her in Andelon anyway, would you also make a few inquiries to see if you can find trained Deryni willing to devote a few years to helping form a Schola here in Rhemuth as well? An official Schola, that is, attached to the Basilica."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"And Lady Sophie. How is she dealing with the loss of her father?" The steel eyes softened.

"She's recovering as well as can be expected, this early on, Sire. There are good days and bad. Sir Stefan's restoration to complete health _has_ helped matters greatly, of course,"

"I'd hoped it might. And how is Sir Seisyll's courtship progressing?"

Constanza chuckled. "Quite well, as far as I can see. He's certainly underfoot often enough."

"I imagine he is. Seisyll can be quite…tenacious." Kelson gave the Contessa a wry smile. "I'd have been a bit more inclined to believe in Sir Seisyll planning an elopement than Sir Jass doing so." The smile widened at the look of alarm on Sophie's guardian's face. "But I wouldn't worry unduly about the possibility. Seisyll knows full well he'll have to deal with _me_ if he steps too far out of line. No, Sir Seisyll won't break my rules. He just enjoys…_flexing_ them a little."

#

Sir Seisyll was, in fact, flexing the rules a little at just that moment.

"I really shouldn't let you in," Sophie murmured against his chest as the two embraced just inside the entrance to the apartment. "Celsie's gone to sleep already, and the Contessa's sure to return soon. She's already livid about Ailidh's elopement, and if she finds _you_ here…."

"All right, I'll leave in just a moment." He stole another kiss, leaving Sophie slightly breathless. "So, is it Ailidh's elopement that has you so upset?"

"Yes. Well, _partly_ that." She leaned back, frowning at him a little. "How did you know I was upset? I've hardly seen you all day."

"Kelson's kept me busy. And we've shared rapport; of course I'd pick up on some of your feelings." He drew back a half step, forcing his rising ardor down, reminding himself he'd come here to comfort the lass, not seduce her. "What else has you upset, then?" He stroked a stray lock of hair away from Sophie's flushed cheek.

"It's…everything's _changing_, Seisyll! First my father's death, and then Stefan getting married—though thank God _that_ seems to be going well enough, under the circumstances!—and then Ailidh running off, and now Celsie says that Duchess Richenda is thinking of sending her on to Andelon for more specialized training when they head back to Corwyn!" Tears welled up in Sophie's eyes. "Nothing ever stays the same, does it?"

"Oh, sweeting…." Seisyll gathered his lady in his arms, dusting feather-light kisses in her hair. "No, it doesn't. Life's all about change, Sophie, whether we're ready for it or not. But not _all _change is bad, you know."

"I know. But…." She swallowed hard. "If the Contessa goes to Andelon, I'll probably have to go with her. Either that, or I suppose I'd have to return to Kestrel Mote when Stefan and Lisette go. The King isn't actually my guardian anymore, now that Stefan's back to full health, so I wouldn't be able to stay on here in Rhemuth." Sophie blinked away her tears. "I don't want to leave here!"

"Well, it's true enough you're no longer under Kelson's direct protection. Though there _is_ a third option, you know."

Sophie looked up at him, puzzled. "A third?"

Seisyll smiled. "Yes. You could marry me. I'd want you at Tre-Arilan part of the time, of course, but I'm in Rhemuth a great deal of the year, and I'd certainly have no objection to you being here with me."

The object of his ardent affections gaped up at him. "You want to marry me?"

The knight stifled a laugh. "Yes, Sophie. That _does_ tend to be the end goal of courtship."

"Well, I know _that_!" she said, looking unnerved, "but I mean…_now_?!"

The laugh broke free. "Well, not _right_ now!"

Distant footfalls sounded in the corridor beyond the apartment's entrance. Sophie's eyes widened with panic. _It's Constanza!_

_Not a problem, sweeting._ Seisyll gave Sophie a conspiratorial smile. _I was never here._

To her astonishment, he walked over to the wall beside the fireplace, tossing one last parting grin over his shoulder at her, and traced the glyph to open the secret passage door.

#

Seisyll entered his own apartment via the secret passageway, only to discover his King awaiting him in his own sitting room.

"I begin to see why you covet my chair, Sir Seisyll," Kelson joked, looking around at the small apartment's furnishings. "It's an uncanny match to what you've collected already." The gray eyes locked with his. "And how is Lady Sophie?"

"Well enough, I trust, Sire, given the eventfulness of the past few weeks," Seisyll replied neutrally. "To what do I owe the honor of a Royal visit?"

Kelson reached inside his doublet, bringing out a folded and sealed letter. "How possible would it be to get a message to the Earl's Court at Porgonnedd ahead of Duke Dhugal's arrival there?"

Seisyll whistled silently. "_This_ time of year? Damn, Kelson, I'm a Deryni, not Saint Camber! I have certain resources, but I can't just wave a hand and say 'Here be miracles!'" He grinned. "For that, you'll need Denis; _he_ might be better connected."

Kelson snorted. "All right, as soon as possible then. But in your best assessment, am I asking the impossible, or simply the improbable?"

Seisyll waggled a hand. "I wouldn't say it's outright impossible, but it's most certainly improbable. Unless, of course, Bishop Duncan has a Transfer Portal in Cassan that he's willing to show me. I know of none in Porgonnedd or elsewhere in Pelagog. It is, after all, in the God-forsaken backside of beyond."

The King smiled. "I rather doubt that Duncan does have one in Cassan, though I'm sure there are times when he'd have found one quite handy. All right, in that case, here's a lesser challenge. Just get the letter to Dhugal within the week. That, I trust, should be within your capabilities?"

Seisyll pocketed the letter. "I'll do my best. Would you prefer I deliver it personally, or may I avail myself of other resources? That may actually be faster, in this case."

"Whatever it takes, Seisyll." The King studied him a long moment. "There's another thing I need, now that I'm thinking of it." He glanced at the wall Seisyll had just come through. "I've never had the time to do an extensive exploration of those passages. When you have time, I'd like a map drawn up."

"Ah." Seisyll grinned at his King. "For _that_, you might wish to ask Sophie. She has the beginnings of one underway already."

Kelson looked startled. "She does?"

His agent laughed. "Oh, yes. That's what piqued my interest in her in the first place."

#

_Good evening, little sister._

Lady Jashana Arilan, the younger of Seisyll's sisters, stirred in her sleep. _Oh Jesú, I was just having the sweetest dream! What do _you_ want?_

_I'm glad to see you well also. I need to get a letter to Porgonnedd for Kelson. Do you still have access to your foster-sister's private Portal in Kierney?_

_ No, that house burned down two years ago, remember? I'm fairly sure they destroyed the Portal afterwards. _Jashana was silent for a moment, thinking. _What about the one in the Connait? The one connected to the Baron de Courcy's late wife's family. Maybe he could pay them a visit, and then travel from there?_

_He's on his deathbed, and Lisette's newly married. Her new husband might notice the absence of a bride, I'd think._

_ Lisette's married? _ Jashana absorbed the news. _To whom?_

_ Sir Stefan de Varney._

His sister's eyes widened. _Really?_ They narrowed again in speculation. _Does Javana know yet?_

_ Not to my knowledge. I figured I'd wait until she's wed before mentioning it in passing._

_ I see. _His baby sister's dream-visage studied him. _Did _you_ arrange it?_

Seisyll side-stepped the question. _Can you get a letter to Porgonnedd or not?_

Jashana sighed. _Sextus just returned home from Nyford this morning. If you can get the letter to me, I suppose I can introduce him to my friend in Laas. _Against_ my better judgment, I might add. He can travel northwards from there. And curse your warm, dry hide every step of the way, I'm sure!_

Seisyll chuckled. _Tell him I'll make it worth his while. And that_ I_ said your friend in Laas is off limits._

Thank_ you! Now, can I get back to my dream?_

_ That depends. Do I need to find you a husband?_

Her blue-violet eyes rolled. _It wasn't _that_ sort of a dream._

Seisyll chuckled, releasing his sister from the link and drifting off into sweet dreams of his own.


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Dhugal's retinue pushed on towards Transha, not easing their pace in the slightest to make allowance for Ailidh's unexpected appearance in the group, for the Duke refused to be slowed. And, for that matter, Ailidh wanted no special treatment, though by the third evening it was pride alone that kept her upright in the saddle, and upon dismounting for the evening, she found that her legs would barely support her.

Old Lambert, chuckling, offered her some willow bark tea to help ease her stiff and aching muscles that evening. "I've go' a bit o' horse liniment, if ye're wantin' a rub-down," Lachlan also offered with a laugh, though a warning look from Sir Jass soon shut him down.

Her horse tended to, Ailidh dragged her weary body up the stairs towards the waiting bed that night, falling onto the mattress face-first, asleep almost before her body was fully horizontal. A short time later, she was awakened by an odd sense of warmth suffusing each of her limbs in turn, moving then to her aching back and neck, accompanied by a growing awareness of the gentle kneading of fingers on her shoulders. She stirred slightly, turning her head to one side to see a tartan-clad thigh sitting next to her, perched on the edge of the bed. She followed the lean lines of the border man's form upwards until she saw amber eyes looking down at her.

"You forgot to eat before you fell asleep. Jass is bringing up a plate for you." Dhugal stood, moved away to create a pallet by the fire, as he'd done the previous two evenings. "How's that feel; any better?"

Ailidh rolled over, easing herself into a sitting position slowly. She was surprised to find the achiness had vanished. Instead, a warm glow of well-being filled her.

"Much!" She stared at Dhugal. "What did you do?"

He shrugged. "A bit of Deryni healing, plus just rubbing out some of the knots. You might have said something sooner, Ailidh."

"You'd not have slowed your pace," Ailidh said, "So why bother?"

"True, but I'd not have let you suffer like that for so long if I'd known." He quirked a smile at her. "Not much point in trying to teach you how to think before you act, if I kill you with the lesson, now is there?"

She snorted. "Oh, I wasn't even _close_ to dead, Dhugal MacArdry." Dhugal raised an eyebrow, and she gave a reluctant laugh. "I just wanted to be!"

The door opened, and Jass entered, carrying a platter of food and a couple of trenchers. "Ah, ye're up, then! Good. Eat up; ye'll be needin' yer energy for tomorrow."

Ailidh's mouth began to water as she watched Jass carve the roasted meat and spoon a thick gravy over it. Bread spread with soft cheese came next, along with some lentils and a bit of dried fruit. "It's no' up tae Rhemuth's standards," Jass told her as he noticed her watching, "but for a roadside inn servin' winter fare, it's no' sae bad."

She nodded, eagerly sampling the offerings, her appetite now fully awakened. "What's tomorrow, then?"

"We should be reaching Transha just before noon tomorrow," Dhugal informed her. "We'll be staying the night at the Keep, getting fresh horses and more provisions before heading up through Cassan to Pelagog."

"We'll be in Transha?" Ailidh looked up at the men, her face aglow. "Truly?"

"Aye. For one evening." Dhugal raised a brow at her. "You can stay there, if you like, but if you're still hoping to continue on with us to Pelagog, you'd best be making up your mind on Jass's offer, because you'll not be setting foot out of Transha again until you're safely wed." As he had on the previous evenings, he pulled a coin out of his pouch and flipped it. "Jass?"

"Heads."

Dhugal lifted his hand. Kelson's likeness gleamed up at him from the stamped metal disk.

He shrugged. "Ah, well...two out of three nights wasn't so bad." He tossed an extra cloak on the pallet and prepared to bunk down.

#

_Are ye all right, Ailidh?_ Jass lay facing the lass, staring at her back in the darkness.

After a moment, she responded. _Aye, why wouldn't I be?_

He edged slightly closer, moving the hand on her shoulder lower until it lightly encircled her waist. _I know a weddin' wasnae what ye were lookin' for, when ye set off wi' us. It's no' the way I wanted things settled between us either. I wanted tae win ye, lass._

_ Instead of just having me dumped in your lap, like a sack full of used goods? _Ailidh's mind-voice was bitter.

_A chuisle mo chridhe, ye're far from _that! His arm tightened around her. _I love ye, chuisle._

Another silence. _You want me, you mean._

_ Aye, tha' too. Love's more than tha', though._

A longer silence. _I wouldn't know,_ she finally answered, curling up into a ball.

Jass drew her against him, holding her close, trying to offer wordless comfort since he couldn't think of anything else to say that might help. At last she relaxed slightly, the tension slowly leaving her body.

_It's not your fault, Jass. It's my own. I just hope you don't come to hate me later, when you meet a woman who's worth you._

Before he could work out how to respond to that, Jass realized that Ailidh had finally drifted off to sleep.

#

They reached the village below the Keep in the late morning. The men, their spirits raised by the prospect of a night in their own beds and—in a few cases—with wives they'd long missed, filled the air with lively banter, but as the day wore on, Ailidh grew more quiet. When they'd reached the town square, Dhugal sent two men ahead with instructions to seek out Father Keegan.

They returned a short while after with the priest, who didn't appear to be overly drunk yet so early in the morning, although he was a trifle unsteady on his feet and his breath bore the distinct odor of a breakfast of kippers and cheap whiskey.

His rheumy eyes wandered over the assembled company, landing eventually on Ailidh. "So, ye're th' bride, then?"

Her eyes darted uncertainly to Dhugal, then back to the priest again. "Aye."

"Comely wee thing, ain't ye? If I weren't a man o' th' cloth, _I'd_ do ye!" He grinned. "An' where's th' man 'at's marryin' ye?"

Someone pushed Jass forward. He glared behind him, then shot a look at Dhugal. Dhugal was studying the priest tight-lipped, as if strongly contemplating the merits of asking his father the Bishop if the Church might send another village priest to Transha the next time such parish assignments came under consideration.

"An' are ye willin' tae be wed an' bedded, then?" He shrugged at the young chief and added in an overly loud whisper, "I havetae ask; I'm no' really s'posed tae wed her if she's no' willin', though I s'pose I could jus' keep quiet about it."

"Aye," Ailidh muttered, her face looking drawn and pale and not very willing at all.

Jass took a few steps to one side until he brushed up against Dhugal. _Don't do this, Dhugal! _Look _at her!_

"A' right, then, lemme get my missal an' I'll meet ye on th' church steps," the priest was saying, lurching a little bit to the right.

Dhugal ran a hand over his face as if to wipe away a sudden tiredness. "Wait." He sighed. "Give us a few minutes."

#

Ailidh wandered over to the side of the small chapel, staring into the churchyard, her arms tightly folded around her body, tears streaming down her cheeks. Jass walked up to her, turning her to cradle her face against his shoulder, kissing the top of her head gently.

"Ye dinnae havetae wed me, lass. I'll answer tae Dhugal for ye. I'll nae force ye, sweeting."

She sniffed. "I'm sorry, Jass. I want to, but I can't! I'm so sorry."

He puzzled over that, latching onto the one bit that he thought he understood...maybe.

"Ye _want_ tae marry me?"

She nodded. "Aye."

"Then...what's wrong, _chuisle_?"

The gray-green eyes looked up at him in despair. "I'm too scared." She looked back at the churchyard, blinking back tears. "I want tae see Caldie, but...I cannae do this."

"But why, Ailidh? If ye_ want_ tae wed me, then there's nae problem..."

She looked back up at him. "Ye dinnae understand, Jass! Everyone I've ever loved, I've _lost._" She looked away forlornly. "They die, or they leave, or they just dinnae want me." She swallowed. "I cannae do it anymore, Jass. If I wed wi' ye, ye'll want tae bed me—it's only right, after all—an' if _tha'_ happens, I'll only love ye more, an' I'm too scared to, because then it'll hurt all th' more when I lose _you_ too."

"I..." He shook his head, at a loss to how to deal with her illogical stream of logic. "Ailidh, ye're no' goin' tae lose me, sweeting. I'm no' goin' anywhere."

"Ye dinnae _know_ tha', Jass!" She clasped his hands, her slender fingers clinging to his as if for survival, and a stream of images and raging emotions flooded through his mind.

_Ailidh's father, walking out the door on a crisp autumn day, eager for the hunt. He picked up his daughter, whirling her in his arms until she was slightly dizzy, then set her back on the ground, assuring her he'd be back that evening for dinner. She'd spent the day playing by the shore with her friends, but as the sun began its descent in the late afternoon sky, she'd rushed home eagerly to help her mother prepare for her father's arrival. He was already there, his body laid out upon the table. It had been a boar, they'd said as they rushed her back outside. A quick death. He'd not had time to suffer, or so they'd assured the grieving child who sat on the front step keening..._

_ Sitting with Caldie on the side of Dhugal's bed, stifling their giggles as they wove purple flowers into his hair while he slept. Already the downy hair growing over his lip was starting to darken, the planes of his face turning more angular with each passing month. Ailidh wondered what he'd look like as a man grown. She looked up to find Caldie staring at her, and blushed. "I'm out o' flowers," she'd whispered. "Pass me some."_

_ "Sweet Jesu, ye're no' sweet on _Dhugal,_ are ye?"Caldie had asked, suppressing a snort of laughter._

_ "O' course no'!" Ailidh had returned, but when Caldie had turned away to pull the flower basket closer, Ailidh found herself staring at the sleeping lad, wondering what a kiss would feel like, and if he'd ever show her someday._

_ She'd gone home later that evening to find her mother wreathed in smiles. "It's wonderful news, Ailidh! The Baron o' Marlor has asked Earl Cauley for me, and we're tae be wed at Midsummer. It'll mean a move tae Marlor, but dinnae fret, ye'll soon settle in there an' find new friends, an' we'll make a home of it together."_

_ Odhran, her mother's new husband, staring at her again with that unsettling gaze that made Ailidh worry. Was he wanting her, or was he just wanting to be rid of her? Or both? She avoided him as often as she could, half afraid to find out. Slipping out of the Great Hall to seek the solace of outdoors, she ran headlong into a younger man, just a few years older than herself. "Ailidh nicArdry, is tha' you?" She looked up into the grinning face of Callum MacInnis._

_ Callum, randy young Callum whose ardent courtship of her had stopped at the church steps when they'd exchanged their wedding vows. Gone was the gentle teasing and the ready jests, the stolen kisses and the light banter of a man trying to win over a maiden. Now she was just a prize to be claimed at his convenience, expected to serve him at table and in bed and to keep her sassy tongue silent, for if he'd wanted to know her opinions, he'd have asked. She'd drawn the line at being used under a hedgerow, though. The brambles hurt. Still, it had torn her half apart to discover she was still a free woman after all, that her marriage had been nothing but a sham. Callum's betrayal had stung, but even more painful had been her sense of loss. Not loss of her virginity—though that might matter more to society's censuring eyes, she knew she'd been blameless in that—but loss of her innocent trust. How could she give herself up so wholly to another man, when she'd lost _that _essential part of her soul?_

_ So she'd returned home to her mother, seeking solace. But her mother belonged to another man now, and her home wasn't her own. And her stepfather, with his wanting/unwanting eyes, sent her away. Another loss of a sort, though at least this time she was grateful, for at least in Rhemuth she'd found some happiness again, short-lived though it had been._

_ Twelfth Night in Rhemuth, and Dhugal irrevocably slamming the door shut on all her childhood dreams and longings. Not that she deserved a man such as Dhugal had grown up to be. And now, with her running off from Rhemuth, she'd probably killed all hope of him ever even liking her anymore. She'd never be anything more to him than a pest and a pain, a problem to be handled, passed on to somebody else._

_ She was damaged goods now, unfit to be loved, for everyone she'd ever dared to love, she'd lost. And now she'd lose Jass too, and probably Caldie as well, and would watch as helplessly as she ever had. But she'd hold her heart back now, and try not to feel it anymore, because feelings hurt far too much._

_ Love hurt far too much._

_#_

Jass held her close, whispering soothing words into her hair, but her shields had turned rock solid after that brief sharing, and he wasn't sure at all if he was getting through to her. At last he left her there, sensing somehow that what she really wanted most right at that moment was to be left alone, and wandered back to Dhugal.

Dhugal gazed across the narrow distance at Ailidh, his concern evident in his eyes. "I can't bring myself to force her either, Jass. And I certainly don't want _him_ marrying the two of you!" He flung his hand backward in the general direction of the drunken priest. "I don't suppose there's any hope she'd be willing to be left behind in Transha, though?"

Jass snorted. "With Caldie in Pelagog? No' a hope in hell."

"If it's the priest that's the problem, we can find another one when we're passing through Kierney or Cassan." Dhugal's amber eyes glanced back at Jass. "It's not as simple as that, though, is it?" He looked back at Ailidh's bowed form, slumped against a tree. "Is she frightened? If Callum's brutalized her, I'll kill him."

"It's no' as simple as _tha'_, either." Jass considered his options for a long moment, then sighed heavily. "She's shown me wha' th' problem is. She'll probably kill me for showin' ye, but I think ye ought tae know. _I _dinnae know what tae do about it."

Dhugal watched Ailidh a moment longer, then drew Jass into the shelter of a nearby alcove, out of sight. "All right, then. Let's have a look."

#

"Ailidh, let's take a walk."

She looked up in surprise at Dhugal as he laced his fingers in hers, leading her away from the churchyard fence, away from Market Square, and down a narrow cobbled street leading out of town. He eventually stopped at a low wall behind the shelter of a small croft, and sat on it, motioning for her to join him.

She sat beside him, glancing up at him warily. He studied her face.

"You won't be getting married today," he finally told her. "I can't do that to you. Not like that, and certainly not by _him,_" he added, sending her a brief mental image of the grizzled priest at the chapel.

She looked down at her hands. "Thank you."

He took one of her hands in his again, stroking the back of it with his thumb. "Jass loves you, you know."

Ailidh nodded. "Aye."

He cocked his head at her. "And I think, deep down, you love him. Or at least you're starting to."

She swallowed hard, looking away. "Aye." He almost had to strain to hear her.

"Sweeting, there's something I think I ought to show you. I probably should have shown you before now, when you came to me after Twelfth Night, but I didn't realize there was any need to." He shrugged. "I just somehow figured you knew. I have no idea why."

She looked up at him at that, gray-green eyes puzzled. "Figured I knew what?" she asked.

"How I feel about you." He smiled down at her. "You think I see you as being something akin to the Great Plague, don't you? 'Oh God, here comes Ailidh; no telling what she's up to now! Someone call a priest, because it's likely I'll have to strangle her...'"

She gave a reluctant laugh. "Well, it's true enough, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes, on the surface of things. There's more, though."

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly as the memories began to flow.

_Two laughing girls peeking at him from around the corner of a building, erupting into squeals as he came flying after them. Aye, he'd been irate at the time, but later on, lying in his bed, he'd laughed at the cleverness of the prank they'd played on him. It had been no minor feat of engineering to rig up that bucket to pour icy water over him the moment he came through the door. He had to grudgingly admire the mechanism they'd rigged up together to keep the bucket from falling or tipping over onto the wrong person. He'd seen at least two other men walk through that door before he did, so he knew they'd waited for him specifically before pulling the string that triggered the pouring bucket._

_ Caldreana was a bright lass, but Dhugal knew she wasn't quite that ingenious. Nay, it had been Ailidh behind that prank. Dhugal had known it at once, and while he was annoyed with them both, he was also, in some obscure way, proud of their cleverness. They were pests, aye, but they were _his _pests._

_The summer of their thirteenth year arrived. Dhugal rode out with the men one morning, riding the borders, when they happened upon the girls wading in the shallows, their lightweight gowns cast aside in favor of lighter chemises, the hems wet and smeared with sandy mud despite having been hitched up to reveal bare feet and calves. "They're getting' a wee bit old tae be doin' tha'," Ciard had muttered under his breath to the young tanist. "Ol' Cauley needs tae have a word wi' them, or _you_ do. They'll be women soon, an' it's no' safe for 'em tae be showin' themselves off like tha'." Dhugal had been startled, but a closer look had shown him that Caldie was already starting to blossom, soft curves visible under the damp fabric. Ailidh, to his relief, was still skinny as a stick, but an appreciative chuckle behind him had given him pause. "Yer sister's a bonny wee thing, but it's th' feisty one _I'm_ wantin' when she's ripe enough. She'll be a right proper wildcat in bed, I'll wager!" Dhugal had turned to glare at the speaker. "No' tha' _you'll _ever know, Callum McInnis, if _I _have any say in it!" he'd told the young man, his protective ire up. He hadn't had a say in it, as it had turned out, for by that time Ailidh had moved to Marlor._

_ Ailidh's leaving had been hard on Caldie, who'd cried for weeks before getting back to her old devilment, though never again with the same enthusiasm as before. Dhugal had felt the loss as well, but there didn't seem to be much he could do about it. He was kept busy by then, learning all the things necessary for a chief's heir to know, training as a battle surgeon, riding borders. He'd tried writing a letter once, like Caldie sometimes did, but he didn't really know what to say in it, so he just wrote down what he'd done that day. Likely to bore her mindless, he'd thought, but he'd ended up sending it regardless. At least he'd tried. And she'd been more Caldie's friend than his, so she'd not be looking for more letters from him anyway. _

_And then seeing her again, hanging upside down in a tree outside of Rhemuth, wearing one of her brothers' cast-off clothes, bright curls flying, eyes sparkling at him with sass and mischief. Dear God, she'd grown up beautiful! He'd not been prepared for that. He was, of course, also quite aware that Caldie—whom he still thought of as his sister, despite the slightly more distant blood-kinship he'd since learned lay between them—was considered quite pretty as well, but Caldie he viewed simply with a brother's protective fondness, nothing more. Ailidh had been equally like a sister to Dhugal; surely he shouldn't be unnerved to discover she, too, had become quite lovely?_

_ But it _was_ different, somehow. Never mind that his heart already belonged to another. He loved another woman, aye, but someone had forgotten to inform his body. So he found himself torn—half wanting to see more of Ailidh, to renew the old acquaintance, this time as adults, but also half needing to avoid seeing too much of the lass. Not with his mind all muddled as it was around her now. His heart had already made its choice, and even though he had no idea yet how that would all turn out in the end, he wanted to be faithful. And even if he hadn't, Ailidh was far too precious to him for him to want to risk hurting her with a mere dalliance. So with the same discipline and diligence he'd set to learning Transha's borders, he carefully maintained the boundaries of their renewed friendship. Until Twelfth Night._

_ He'd been desperately lonely at Twelfth Night, hiding behind the laughing, carefree mask everyone expected to see him wear during the evening's revelry, but despite the crowds of people in the Great Hall, the one woman he desired most had been far distant, off at St. Kyriell's. He didn't even know if she felt the same way for him anymore, if things would be the same once she returned. If he'd ever be able to offer for her hand, or if he should just give up his suit and move on with his life. But no one else had seen through his masquerade—not even Kelson, although Kelson had probably felt much the same way that night, with Rothana gone to St. Kyriell's as well, and even _less_ hope for a happy ending to that romance than Dhugal had._

_ The minstrels called the next dance, and he realized it was the one he'd promised Ailidh. They began to dance through the set, palms brushing, moving smoothly through the Hall together as if they'd practiced for years. They'd ended up under her damn mistletoe, although she hadn't noticed, and he hadn't called her attention to it, knowing if he'd kissed her, he might want more, and for all the wrong reasons. So they'd merely stood there, both catching their breath, her laughing eyes shining up at him admiringly, making him feel—for that brief moment, anyway—almost whole again._

_ And then, in the wee hours of the following morning, she'd come to him, broken-hearted, pouring out her soul upon his shoulder. And he hadn't known what to say, what to do. She'd needed him, and the one thing she'd wanted from him was the one thing he couldn't give her. He loved her, aye—he realized now he always had—but he wasn't in love with her in the way she wanted him to be, and he couldn't simply summon up that sort of love as if it were handfire. She was neither sister nor lover; Dhugal had no idea _how _to think of her anymore, except just as Ailidh, as much a part of his life as his own shadow._

_ But Jass wanted her; that much was clear. And Jass was a good man. He'd give Ailidh the love she deserved, the happiness Dhugal wanted for her. _ If _she'd let him. Dhugal hoped she would. He wanted to give her that much, at least, if he could._

Ailidh drew back slightly, tears in her eyes. "You _don't _hate me?"

Dhugal laughed softly, shaking his head. "No, I don't hate you, _chara._ I just want to shake you sometimes until your teeth rattle."

She gave a hiccupy giggle. "I usually deserve it."

"Aye, you do." He hugged her close, kissing her damp cheek. "Will you _please_ marry Jass when we get to Kierney? Put the man out of his misery already."

Ailidh stared at her hands. "I'm scared, Dhugal," she admitted finally. "I seem to lose everyone I love. What if I lose him too?"

"We lose everyone eventually, Ailidh. Some die, some end up traveling down different roads. Some mean to leave, some don't. I can't guarantee you'll never lose Jass, though I'm pretty sure if you do, it won't be because he wants to go." He stared out into the distance. "Love hurts sometimes, but that doesn't mean it always has to. And sometimes it might look different from what you're looking for, and that makes it hard for you to see it, even when it's there." He squeezed her hand. "Take your mother, for example. Do you know why she accepted Baron Odhran?"

Ailidh shook her head.

"The Baron met her when visiting Transha Keep and took a fancy to her. She saw it as a way of making a better life for you and your brothers. I heard her discussing it with my—with Cauley when he told her the Baron had offered for her. It might have broken your heart, leaving Transha when all you knew and loved was here, but she meant well, and was hoping to give you a better life." He sighed. "I was trying to care for you when I had Father Keegan called out to marry you on the church steps, but I was going about it all wrong, wasn't I?"

Ailidh's mouth twitched. "If I'm going to marry Jass, can it please not be done by a priest who reeks of kippers and stale whiskey and wants to 'do' me?"

Dhugal laughed. "Aye." He stood, offering Ailidh a hand up. "I'll find you a proper priest when we go through Kierney. Assuming you're coming with us the rest of the way?"

"Aye, of course. Sticking to you like a leech, I'll be."

The grin flashed, then faded. "You don't _mind_ marrying Jass, do you? Aside from the circumstances, I mean?"

She shook her head. "No. I want to." Ailidh blushed.

The smile returned. "Good."


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

The next day dawned fresh and fair. The Transha men, newly provisioned, soon rode westward from the village, following the coastline westwards towards Kierney. Ailidh rode with them, enjoying a place of honor between Dhugal and Jass with a far more cheerful countenance than she'd had for much of the day before.

"We should be reaching Drumlithie sometime in the early afternoon," Dhugal told her. "I'd originally planned on continuing straight on from there and not stopping again until we reach Duncarrick, but Jass would hardly thank me."

"Why's that? What's wrong with Duncarrick?" Ailidh wondered. Jass, on her other side, merely grinned.

"Not a thing, lass, except that we're not likely to get there until quite late in the evening if we push straight on, and you'd likely be needing Lachlan's horse liniment after." A amused gleam shone in Dhugal's eye. "I don't think that's quite what Jass is hoping for in a wedding night."

"I was rather countin' on a different sort o' ridin' later," Jass agreed with a laugh, keeping his voice low, though not quite low enough to avoid being overhead by the men riding immediately behind him.

Ailidh blushed profusely, to the delight of the Transha men riding close by. One of them started up a Border wedding ballad that was more than a bit on the bawdy side, the others soon joining in as well. She rolled her eyes, then kept her eyes fixed on the path straight ahead, trying to ignore them, but after a while she gave up. Her gaze drifted over to Jass, who smiled. She smiled back, feeling unaccountably shy all of a sudden.

#

The priest in Drumlithie, much to Ailidh's relief, did not have to be fetched out of a pub this time. Instead, the man was found crouched behind the small chapel's rectory, puttering about in a tiny garden.

He stood when he saw the mounted band arrive, brushing dirt stains off the knees of his plain black cassock before straightening fully, and shading his eyes with one hand to see them more clearly in the glare of the afternoon sun. He smiled in recognition as the Duke hailed him.

"Strange time of year for you to be traveling, Your Grace," Father Stiobhan said with an easy smile. "Welcome back to Kierney, though."

"And it's an odd time for you to be gardening as well, isn't it?" Dhugal countered with a grin.

"Aye, just laying down an extra layer of mulch over some of the perennials to help protect them from the next frost and snow. I'm sure there'll be more coming just around the corner." He smiled up at Ailidh. "Your message arrived this morning. Is this the bride, then?"

"As I'm the only lass traveling with this rowdy lot, let's hope I am," Ailidh joked.

Father Stiobhan chuckled as he surveyed Ailidh's recently shorn locks. "Are you _certain_ you're a lass? Looks like you tried for a Border braid quite recently. I imagine that was rather difficult, with all those curls." He glanced back at Dhugal. "I'll need a private word with the bride and groom, if I may, Your Grace."

"Certainly." He glanced at Jass, who dismounted, handing his reins over to old Lambert before assisting Ailidh.

The two followed Father Stiobhan into the chapel. "Duke Dhugal explained the circumstances behind his request in the message he sent along this morning. I'm not in the habit of performing weddings between people I don't already know, so I hope you don't mind if I take just a few minutes to get to know you first?"

"Not at all," Jass said, with a surprised glance at Ailidh.

"Good. First off, while I understand the Duke's reasoning behind wanting this marriage to happen, are _you _two willing to be married?" he asked, smiling at both of them.

"Aye," Ailidh said, smiling up at Jass.

"Very," Jass agreed with a grin.

"Excellent." The priest grinned back. "This is a love match, I take it? I enjoy those. So many people marry for other reasons—often quite excellent ones—but they're really not that well suited for each other on a more personal level. I imagine that makes the journey more difficult. Now, I'm sure you'll think this is blindingly obvious, but I don't know if you've given the matter much consideration or not yet. This marriage is going to last far longer than any horse ride to Pelagog. It's not the sort of thing one should enter lightly. Marriage might seem like a neat and tidy way to solve a bit of a problem you're having at the moment," he added with a smile at Ailidh, "but it's more than that, it's a sacrament. Are you prepared to make a lifelong commitment to each other, knowing you'll still be bound in covenant to each other long after any hint of gossip has died down in Rhemuth?"

Jass looked down at Ailidh, hardly daring to breathe. She nodded. "Aye."

"And you, Sir Jass?"

He gave a relieved sigh. "Aye."

Father Stiobhan smiled. "All right, then give me a few minutes to change into vestments that don't have garden mulch all over them. I'll meet you and your kin on the church steps."

#

The exchange of vows was brief. At the end, Father Stiobhan pronounced Jass and Ailidh to be man and wife, and Jass let out an exuberant whoop, lifting his new bride high and whirling her about while the rest of the Transha men roared with laughter and Ailidh giggled. Thankfully, he'd remembered to bring her down from the church steps first.

The small band of riders next ventured down the street to a pub with an inn above, Jass still carrying Ailidh reiver-style, much to Dhugal's amusement and Ailidh's mild but still laughing dismay. There, once the horses had been stabled, they took over the cozy establishment, filling the room with loud laughter interspersed with song.

"Ye know, Ailidh, they're all about th' four W's, Border songs are," Jass informed his new wife with a twinkle in his eye after a couple of hours of dining and drink while being regaled with ballad after increasingly bawdier ballad.

"Oh, are they now?" she said, humoring him. "And what four W's are those?"

"Well, there's wenches, war, whisky, an'...oh, wha's th' fourth one, Lachlan? I had it jus' a moment ago."

The other man studied his fourth ale thoughtfully. "Wanderin'?" he asked after a bit.

"Aye, tha's it! Wanderin'. See, Ailidh, ye pick any song in th' Borders, an' it's goin' tae be about at least _one _o' those W's, an' possibly more."

"All right..." Ailidh searched her memory for an exception. "How about 'The Selkie Bride?'"

"It's about a wench," Jass said with a grin.

"No, she's not, she's a _seal_," Ailidh countered.

"A wench, a seal, it's all th' same tae a Norseman once he's had too many ales," Jass joked.

"Speaking of which..." she said, pulling his tankard away. The other men laughed.

"Ye'll no' be wantin' tae many ales tonight, Jass! Ye've a bride tae bed," Lachlan said.

"Aye, I do." He grabbed the tankard back for one last swallow. "I'd best be gettin' on tha', aye?" Jass set the tankard back down on the counter and started towards Ailidh, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"You are _not_ going to carry me up those stairs like a reiver," she said giggling, catching a fleeting vision of his intent. She began to back away slowly, coming up short as she collided with Dhugal, who caught her up in his arms.

"No, _I _am." The Transha chief grinned at his knight, then headed up the stairs with the knight's bride slung over his shoulder. "And I need just a moment alone with Jass before you two disappear for the rest of the evening." There was a pause at the top of the stairs. "Damn, did you just _bite_ me?"

#

Ailidh entered the top floor room that had been set aside as a bridal suite. Dhugal stopped Jass just outside the door, closing it behind him to give Ailidh her privacy while the two men conversed in the corridor just outside.

"I thought about pulling out a coin to flip," Dhugal admitted, "but I was half afraid you might kill me before I had time to say I was just jesting."

Jass grinned. "Aye, this time it's _my _turn tae flip th' coin." He pulled one out of his pouch, doing so. "Now-'heads,' I win; 'tails'; you lose."

Dhugal chuckled, then turned serious. "Before you go in there, I need to tweak your mental shields a bit. Ailidh probably should do this as well, but you can just tell her what I did for you, and she should be able to see what to do from that."

"My shields? All right, but what for?" Jass followed Dhugal into the adjoining chamber.

Dhugal rested his hands lightly on Jass's head. "You know how I've enhanced your shielding so that other Deryni who might be working against me won't be able to piece together my secrets based on what you know?"

"Aye..."

Dhugal began to extend a mental probe into Jass's mind, which opened up readily to him. "Well, your shields and the controls I've established are only set up to deny other Deryni access, not me. So I'm going to help you establish an inner set of shields—think of it as the inner ring of a keep's fortifications—for those things you need to keep private from me as well."

"All right, but why would ye want me keepin' secrets from _you_?" Dhugal's loyal knight looked utterly baffled. Dhugal grinned.

"Because, Jass, the _next_ time I have to go poking around in your mind, the _last_ thing I want to worry about is running across some memory of you poking around in your wife! Now, shut up a moment and let me focus here."

Jass stifled a laugh. "Well, when ye put it _tha'_ way...!"

#

Jass opened the door of the bridal chamber. Ailidh sat by the fire, though she rose as he entered the room, looking a bit shy.

"I didn't know if...well...it's only just now sunset..." His young bride's cheeks turned rosy.

"Ah, yes. Well, nothin' tae do up here, I'll jus' go down an' hae another pint wi' the lads," Jass teased, turning as if to walk away.

"Don't you dare!" Ailidh crossed the room swiftly, grabbing at his sleeve. He laughed.

"Or mayhap there's some other way tae pass th' time..." He scooped Ailidh up in his arms, crossing the small room to drop her onto the bed. Something—part of the bed frame?—fell to the floor with a loud crash, leaving the mattress half supported at a precarious angle. Ailidh rolled down it gently until she reached the floor.

Jass stood over her, mouth falling open slightly.

Ailidh chortled from where she lay. "Did we break it? Did we break the bed?"

He grinned. "Sweet Jesú, I hope not; we've no' even _started_ yet! Lord love a duck, think o' th' teasin' we'll hear all th' way tae Pelagog." He dropped to his knees to study the damage. "Get up, sweeting." She moved aside to let him inspect the damage.

There was none. All Jass found was that the wooden slats supporting the mattress were a bit shorter than the width of the frame. One end of the lone slat which remained fully suspended by the frame showed that it had been nudged almost completely off the near supporting edge. The other slats now had their near ends resting on the floor, tilting the mattress above them at an angle.

"Did they all work their way over to one side by accident?" Ailidh asked.

"Oh, I doubt it," Jass said with a suppressed laugh, pointing out something next to the one slat that had held in place. Beside it lay a gleaming coin, Kelson's profile shining up at them.

"Dhugal!" Ailidh muttered, her eyes flashing.

Jass grinned. "After th' hell ye and Caldie put him through, be glad he jus' did _tha'_! He couldhae taken all our clothes instead. Here, help me set th' bed tae rights. Nay, better yet, let's jus' set th' mattress on th' floor instead. It'll save us th' bother o' having tae pick it all back up if th' slats come crashin' down again. Ye know he's probably listenin' for tha', an' laughin' his arse off."

#

The moon had risen high in the sky by the time the new couple fell asleep. Before then, Ailidh had discovered several quite interesting applications for her Deryni powers that had met with her new husband's enthusiastic approval.

Dhugal, too, found a use for his own Deryni powers even later that evening. Long after midnight, when not another person was to be found stirring in the Inn, and after a careful mental probe had assured him that Jass and Ailidh lay soundly sleeping, he quietly unlocked the door and retrieved the objects of his search.

#

"Jass, where are my clothes?"

"Over by mine, on the chair."

"No they're not."

Jass peered across the room in the early-dawn light. "Jesú, they're no', are they?"

"He. Is Going. To Die."

Ailidh stared out the window at their clothing, flapping on the clothesline in the wintry breeze.


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

The Transha party arrived in Pelagog late one evening, their progress hampered over the last couple of miles of travel by blinding snow which had begun to fall, lightly at first, but in ever increasing flurries until the towers of Porgonnedd Keep came into view in the distance. Then, with the capricious fury that winter often unleashed with little warning in the Borders, it had come howling down upon them. But they had pushed their way through finally, a few hours later than they'd thought they'd arrive when they'd set out that morning, but with all members of the party arriving at the Earl's Court safe and whole.

Earl Albree had been most welcoming. After the Earl's grooms had led the horses away to the stables, Dhugal and his retinue had been escorted first into the warmth of a large withdrawing room just to the side of the Great Hall, where mulled wine and hot food had been set aside for their arrival, and a roaring fire brightened the hearth. The Earl's liveried men took their damp cloaks off to dry in another room, and other members of the Earl's household busily readied rooms for the new arrivals and brought up baggage.

The Earl looked slightly taken aback to see Ailidh in the party. "I wasn't expecting a fair young lass to be traveling with you." He gave Dhugal a sidelong look and smiled. "Dare I hope that my neighbor of Cassan has a new Duchess?"

Dhugal gave him a ready grin as he leaned back against the fireplace. "I'm afraid not. She's Sir Jass's new bride, Ailidh is. I've brought her because she was Caldreana's closest friend growing up."

"Ah." The Earl smiled. "Caldie will be glad for the company, I'm sure." He glanced at Jass, noting the protective arm he'd draped around Ailidh, and grinned. "So, newlyweds, are you? I imagine you won't want to bunk down in a room shared with other men, then. I'll make the necessary arrangements." He turned aside, quietly whispering to one of his retainers, who nodded and headed up to the guest chambers to instruct the chambermaids on the room reassignments.

A few minutes later, the Earl's castellan came down, saying something to his master in a low voice. Earl Albree nodded then turned to the assembled guests. "My castellan has just informed me that my Lady's chambermaids have set up hot baths in your bedchambers, so if you'd like to change out of your damp clothing and ease the stiffness of the week's ride, all has been made ready for you. If there's anything else you should require during your stay, please inform my household." Turning to Dhugal, he added in a lower voice, "Caldie is probably sound asleep by now, but I know she'll be eager to see you in the morning. I'll let my son know that you've arrived safely. She's had the best midwifery Pelagog can provide, but I know she'll be eager to see if there's more you can do for her. And _this _came by special courier for you this morning." He reached into his doublet, producing a letter sealed with Kelson's signet.

"Thank you," Dhugal murmured, tucking the letter away into his own doublet to read later.

#

"Come in," Dhugal said absently, not lifting his eyes from the letter Kelson had sent. Jass and Ailidh entered his guest chamber. "You sent for us?" Jass asked.

"Aye." Dhugal glanced up. "I've received a message from Kelson about Ailidh's disappearance. Apparently, the Contessa d'Alcara di Fianna never received your note, Ailidh. Where did you say you'd left it?"

"On the sideboard just inside the main entrance to our apartment," the lass replied, looking confused. She sent a mental image of the location to Dhugal.

"Hm. Odd." Dhugal shrugged. "I'll let Kelson know. He's wanting a full report back. I'll let him know you're safe and sound, and married to Sir Jass. _And_ that Jass had no foreknowledge of your plans." He sent the images of Constanza's angry reaction to Ailidh's mind.

"But…how…?" Ailidh stared at Dhugal, confused.

"How do I have Kelson's memory of that? He's imprinted it into the seal. See here." He took her hand, brushing her fingertips against the royal seal so she could sense the faint tingle of magic there. "You've not been trained in that sort of magic yet, I take it?"

She shook her head. "No, not yet." She sighed. "And I don't suppose I'll ever be, if Constanza's _that_ angry with me."

"Oh, aye, because the Contessa Constanza is the only Deryni in Gwynedd capable of taking you on, I suppose." Dhugal rolled his eyes at Jass, who grinned. "Don't worry about that, Ailidh. You'll get your training. Though you might be right about not getting it from the Contessa; Kelson's letter also says she's planning on taking Lady Celeste to Andelon to be trained by Deryni who are more adept at cording lore."

"Oh." Ailidh considered that for a long moment. "It never even occurred to me they might not be there when I got back."

Dhugal nodded. "Things wouldn't be the same in any case, even if they are." He grinned. "I don't think the Contessa would be agreeable to having Jass move in with you, Celsie, and Sophie, even though _he_ might think that arrangement would be the closest he'll ever get to Moorish heaven."

Jass slanted a rakish smile at his bride. "Aye, _seventy_ virgins might wear me bits out, but I could settle for one or—" He let out a loud whoof of air as Ailidh's elbow connected with his solar plexus.

"Is Sophie going with them too?" Ailidh asked, looking upset.

"Kelson's not sure yet. He thinks Sir Seisyll might convince her to stay. I'll be sending a message back to Rhemuth once the snowstorm lets up, if you'd like to include a letter of your own."

The chamber door opened, and a chambermaid wearing Lord Philo's household livery entered carrying a bucket full of steaming hot water. She plodded across the room, emptying the water out into a large tub by the fireplace, then picked up another bucket already resting nearby and dumped that water in as well. She tested the temperature, gave a loud grunt of satisfaction as she wiped her sweaty brow with one sleeve, and stamped back out. Dhugal raised an eyebrow at Jass.

"She's a healthy strappin' filly tae be sure," Jass whispered, highly amused. "I think she could lift ye intae yer saddle wi' one hand, Dhugal. Did ye see those muscles? Ye'd think she'd jus' carry th' tub itsel' in an' out for fillin' an' no' bother wi' totin' th' buckets back an' forth!"

"Shhhh!" Ailidh admonished with a giggle as the footfalls returned. The door burst open again, the Pelagog heir's chambermaid toting another bucket of near-boiling water in and hefting it over the tub's edge, following this up with the remaining bucket of cooler water that stood by. At last, she straightened, balling her hands into fists, planting them on her sturdy hips and studying the two men before her.

"Which o' ye's th' Duke o' Cassan?" she demanded.

Dhugal sent Jass and Ailidh a bemused look, then turned to bow courteously at the chambermaid. "I am."

_She's go' arms like hams an' a backside like my horse_, Jass mind-spoke to Ailidh, suppressing a laugh. _An' she's wearing Philo's colors; do ye suppose Caldie sent her?_

"Well, are ye goin' tae strip down sae I can lather an' scrub ye, or is yon red-haired wench doin' for ye tonight?"

Dhugal's eyes widened with horror as his mind struggled for a courteous reply.

Ailidh choked down a giggle. "Nay, I've my own man to see to." She smiled angelically over her shoulder at the dumbfounded Dhugal as she pulled Jass out of the room by the sleeve. "Good night, Your Grace!"

#

Lord Philo arrived early the next morning to collect Duke Dhugal. "Caldreana just woke up," he informed the man he considered a brother-in-law, "and is asking for you."

"I'll be right there. May I bring Ailidh nic Ardry as well?"

The older man raised a sandy eyebrow at Dhugal. "_The_ Ailidh nic Ardry? _That's_ the friend of Caldie's who rode in with you?" He stifled a laugh. "God help us; I should've guessed, just from hearing the stories. Yes, bring her; Caldie will be thrilled. I've also asked the midwife to attend you. She can tell you what's going on with Caldie much better than I can."

#

"How are you feeling?" Dhugal asked his sister/aunt a short while later.

"All right, I suppose," she told him with a weary smile, "aside from being a bit sore from having to lie abed all the time, and sick to death of being cooped up. How was your journey?"

"Long, but it's over now." He raised a coppery-bronze brow at Caldie. "And I can scrub my _own_ back, thank you very much."

Caldreana giggled. "What, you didn't appreciate the comely lass I sent to tend to your every need?" She turned sparkling eyes towards Ailidh, who suppressed a chortle.

Dhugal grinned. "If you sent a comely one down, she ended up in the wrong room. I had the one who looks like she butchers cattle. With her bare hands. By slamming them against her face repeatedly."

Caldie laughed to the point of weeping. "Oh, heavens, Your Grace, dinnae stir her up so!" the midwife protested, alarm in her voice, though her eyes betrayed her own amusement. "It's no' good for th' babe in her present state."

Dhugal sobered instantly. "Can you tell me what happened, and what's going on with her now, so I'll know what to look for? I don't know if I can help, but I can at least try."

Caldie glanced up at the midwife, then back at Dhugal. "I went outside after one of the winter storms and slipped on a patch of ice on the stone steps. I landed hard, and…something tore a bit inside, I think. Mistress Eilis can explain that bit better than I can, though." Her fingers twisted at an edge of the sheet.

"Well, first off, it's no' quite as alarmin' as it sounds, put like tha'," the midwife assured Dhugal, noting the look of alarm that had crossed the young man's face at the thought of Caldie having some sort of internal rupture. "But it _is_ serious for th' babe, an' could become so for Caldie as well if infection sets in." She studied the young Duke, wondering how much a battle surgeon knew of female reproductive systems. Not something he'd be likely to encounter in the field, not from a battle surgeon's standpoint at any rate, she decided. "When ye were a wee boy, did ye ever play wi' a pig's bladder? Ye know how ye can clean one out an' blow it up intae a ball, or fill it wi' water and tie th' end off?"

"And lob it at boys' heads," Ailidh supplied with a smirk at Caldie, who grinned.

"Aye…." Dhugal looked baffled, wondering where this was going.

"Well, right now th' baby is floatin' in a sack tha's a bit like tha', an' it's full of water—well, some sort o' liquid, at any rate. An' th' sack is supposed tae stay intact until it's time for th' bairn tae come. It usually breaks when the mother is laborin', or just before." She patted Caldie's hand. "When Caldie fell, the sack ruptured just a wee bit, and her labor started. But it was too early yet, so I fixed her a tisane tha' got it stopped for now. But she's still leakin', an' it's worse if she stands, so tha's why she's no' allowed out o' bed until it's time for the wee 'un tae be born."

"And that's dangerous for the baby?"

"Aye, it can be. I'm givin' her lots tae drink, tryin' tae keep her fluids up so her body will replace th' water she keeps losin', but if she loses too much before th' babe's ready tae be born, it could die. An' th' tear makes it more likely tha' Caldie could get an infection, which could lead tae fever, and…well, I'm sure ye know how tha' can progress."

Dhugal nodded. "Do you know where the tear is? Can it be stitched closed?"

The midwife shook her head. "Nay, that I cannae tell ye, no' wi'out bein' able tae look inside her. An' I dinnae think stitchin' would help. For one thing, we'd havetae cut her womb open tae get there, an' it's much more likely she'll get infected if we do, if she doesnae bleed tae death first. But besides tha', I'd imagine if we go tryin' tae stitch up th' sack wi' needle and catgut, she's only likely tae leak more." She tilted her head at him. "Yer a Deryni healer, they say. Can _ye_ fix it?"

"I don't know." He frowned. "I have to be able to visualize what I'm doing, but I don't have to _see_ the actual injury, I just need to be able to picture it in my mind." He thought back to healing Kelson's injuries at St. Kyriell's the previous spring. "I think you've given me enough of an idea of what to look for that I _might_ be able to find the tear and heal it. At least I can try."

#

That evening, Lady Caldreana sat up for the first time since her fall, regaling her husband with the tale of Dhugal's healing.

"I don't know _what_ he did, exactly. From my end of things, he just seemed to run his hands over my belly for a bit, and then he paused over a certain point, and I felt…sort of a spreading warmth, like…." She giggled. "I don't know. Warm butter melting over toast is the first thing that springs to mind, though I hardly want to compare myself to toast!"

Lord Philo laughed, glancing past his wife to give Dhugal a grateful look. "Well, you and your company are good and snowed in here for a while, so you might as well count on staying until the babe arrives. I'm sure you and Caldie have a lot of catching up to do...not to mention Caldie and Ailidh." He grinned at the lass sitting on Dhugal's other side, between Dhugal and Jass.

"Aye, let's _not_ mention that," Dhugal said with a quirk to his lips. "Caldie and Ailidh under the same roof again. It's probably the start of my epic descent into Hell."

Philo chuckled. "I'll try to keep Caldie reined in, if Jass will do the same for Ailidh." He glanced at his wife fondly. "Going back to the healing, though, is she fully healed now? Everything's safe, she can…ah…go back to normal activities?" His rising flush alerted his wife to his real question.

"Philo!" Caldie turned scarlet.

Jass coughed to conceal the laughter he'd nearly burst into before his wife kicked him in the shin. Dhugal chuckled. "I'm a battle surgeon, not a midwife, Philo. You'll need to take _that _question up with Mistress Eilis. All I can tell you is that I'm pretty sure the rupture is fully healed."

"Were you able to tell if the baby is a boy or a girl?" Caldie asked, swiftly diverting the conversation to less personal topics.

Dhugal smiled. "I _think _you're carrying a boy. But don't hold me to that. Sexing unborn babies is a bit more difficult than candling eggs."

"Oh, I don't know," Lord Philo said. "She's roughly egg-shaped now. We can _try_ to hold her up to the light…."

Caldie giggled and smacked her husband's arm. Dhugal laughed, feeling relaxed and fully at ease for the first time in that long and arduous week.


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Sophie de Varnay sat in her favorite alcove in the Royal Library, hiding behind a book. The winter snows had begun to give way to spring rains, and the Duke of Corwyn's household was making preparations to return to Coroth. The previous evening, Contessa Constanza had announced her intention to join them, and then take a ship from there to the Court of Andelon, where she would present Celsie to Sofiana to discuss her future training. Sophie had been invited to go along as well.

It was the decision that Sophie had known she would have to make, yet now that it was finally here, she still didn't know what answer to give the Contessa. Constanza's household meant security for her now, not to mention friendship and—in a sense—family. She had family here in Rhemuth too, of course, but with Stefan and Lisette still in the fledgling stage of their marriage, Sophie didn't wish to intrude too much upon their privacy.

And then there was Seisyll.

Seisyll loved her, he said, and she thought perhaps she felt the same way about him, but she wasn't certain. If this new feeling was love, it was certainly not like the warm and steady affection she had held for her father, nor even like the fond affinity she shared with her brother, but some new and uncharted territory that both excited and terrified her. Seisyll might be funny at times and serious at others, sometimes comforting, sometimes teasing, sometimes mystifying, sometimes even exasperating. Whatever he was, though, Seisyll was _not_ safe. Not to Sophie's heart, at least, although as an honorable suitor he'd been careful to observe the proprieties. Well, _mostly_...

Sophie wanted safety and security. At least she thought she did. Though lately, she'd begun to wonder if maybe she needed something more instead. Someone to balance her, to draw her out and widen her horizons. Someone more like Seisyll.

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned slightly. A raven-haired man came out of a curtained alcove she'd not noticed earlier, set into the wall that had once contained shelves of books she'd helped Father Nivard and Bishop Duncan move before the Christmas holidays. She supposed it was the new garderobe that the Bishop had once mentioned that the workmen would be putting in.

The man turned towards her slightly, and Sophie realized with a start that it was the King. He stood as if waiting for something or someone, and after just a moment longer, another person emerged from the curtained niche. This time it was Father Nivard.

_Odd, _Sophie mused. _Maybe they were inspecting the new construction. _

The curtain stirred again. This time Bishop Duncan stepped out.

_All _three _of them? _Sophie stifled a giggle. _Sweet Jesú, how big _is_ that garderobe?_

As if sensing her presence, the Bishop suddenly looked directly at her. Seeing her astonished expression, he broke into a laugh.

Kelson gave a rueful sigh. "Hello, Lady Sophie. Sorry if we startled you. We didn't realize you were there. Let me guess; you're probably wondering if there's some strange new entertainment in Rhemuth you've never heard of before now—how many men can be stuffed into a garderobe?"

Sophie laughed. "That _did _seem rather odd."

Duncan glanced at the King. A brief, wordless exchange appeared to take place for a few seconds, and then the bishop looked back at Sophie. "Would you like to come in and see?"

The lady's eyes widened. "The _garderobe_?" she squeaked incredulously.

Father Nivard fell against the wall, tears streaming down his face as he shook with mirth. Kelson attempted to keep his own composure, but after a moment a laugh burst from him as well. Only Duncan managed to stifle his laughter enough to answer her.

"It's not _just_ a garderobe, sweeting. That's only a cover. Come see what's beyond it."

#

"Oh, my..." Sophie looked around at the secret annex shelves in awe. She ran a finger reverently over the spine of one book. "Heaven must look a lot like this, only bigger." She looked up at Bishop Duncan, her face alight. "There's so much _knowledge_ here!"

"Yes," he said with a gentle smile, his eyes drifting across to Father Nivard, who returned his gaze with a similar look of understanding. "You'll understand, though, I hope, why this needs to remain a secret?"

"Yes," she said a trifle wistfully, "but thank you for showing it to me."

"I'm going to need to set a few controls in your mind, Sophie," Kelson said. "Don't worry," he added at her slightly alarmed look, "it's just to protect the security of this annex. And, for that matter, to protect _you,_ now that you know about it. Also, since you're not fully trained yet, I can't permit you free access to this room, though perhaps you'll be able to have that in time. For now, though, you can only come through the entrance if you're accompanied by one of us. Or Morgan," he added as an afterthought.

"I understand, Sire. Thank you."

"Oh, and you won't be able to tell Seisyll just yet either. _ Literally _won't be able to." Kelson grinned as he began to set the controls in Sophie's mind. "Let's keep this a secret from my Man of Secrets for the time being, shall we?"

#

The King left, taking Duncan with him. Sophie sat in a window seat in the secret Annex, her feet tucked under her, next to Father Nivard.

"So, what brings our favorite bookworm back to the Library today?" he asked. "You haven't been by in a while."

Sophie sighed. "I know. I've been kept busy lately, what with Seisyll visiting daily, and getting to know Lisette better, and now helping Celsie and Constanza pack to go to Andelon."

"Ah. _Just_ Celsie and your guardian? Or will you be leaving with them as well?"

Her eyes suddenly shimmered with tears. "I don't know. They want me to go with them, but I don't really want to. I want to stay here, but if I do, I'll have to move in with Stefan and Lisette, and I'd hate to intrude. Or..." She traced a pattern on the seat cushion with her fingertip. "I _could_ marry Seisyll. He's offered."

Father Nivard nodded. "And do you _want_ to marry Seisyll?"

"Yes...sometimes."

"You don't sound too sure. Do you love him?"

She looked up at him pleadingly. "I _think_ so, but how do I know if it's really love?"

The priest smiled in sympathy. "You realize I _might_ not be the best person to ask that question?" he teased.

Sophie laughed. "Well, I know at least you've never married!" A thoughtful expression crossed her face. "_Have_ you ever been in love, though?"

Father Nivard shrugged. "There have been people whom I've loved, and some I've had strong feelings of affection for, but I've not been _in_ love, exactly. More like...'in extreme like.'" He glanced at her with a faint smile.

"Oh." She stifled her curiosity, not wanting him to think she wished to pry.

The priest laced his fingers in front of him with a thoughtful look of his own. "Then again, I also believe there's a difference between attraction and love. A lot of people confuse the two, I think. There are quite a few people I find attractive—sometimes in terms of personality, sometimes in physical appearance, sometimes just in whatever mysterious sense that people sometimes find an affinity with each other and are drawn together. And sometimes...how can I put this?" He chuckled. "Sometimes, shall we say, just on a more...visceral level. And of course, sometimes being attracted to someone can be a problem for any man, but _especially_ for a priest. Depends on the level and kind of attraction, of course, and how one chooses to act on it. But still, that's not exactly the same thing as love. More like...a precursor, I suppose, if one allows it to be."

"So, you think love is something more, then?"

Father Nivard smiled. "Yes. I think it becomes genuine love when an act of the will—the decision to make a full commitment to the other person—becomes involved. Or at the very least, real love grows from that. It's the attitude, not just the emotion. Though hopefully, within that commitment, the emotion will grow and flourish." He glanced at Sophie. "Attraction tends to want primarily for itself. True love also wants what's best for the other. But in most cases, I think it starts out with attraction, at least on some level. Real love needs time to grow and careful nurturing before it reaches full bloom. And, of course, it needs fertile ground to grow in."

Sophie smiled. "I thought you said you weren't the best person to ask?"

The priest grinned back. "Well, that doesn't mean I don't have any opinions on the matter. But really, Duncan's the one you ought to be asking, not me. _ I'm _not the widower with a son."

She blushed. "I know. But I feel more comfortable asking you."

John Nivard laughed. "Yes, I imagine so." He gave her a knowing grin. "I had the worst case of hero worship too, when I first met Duncan McLain. You're hardly alone in that."

#

Seisyll was waiting for Sophie in the outer corridor when she returned to her apartment. "Have you been down in the Royal Library with Boy-Priest and Heart-Throb again? I've brought you the first blossoms of spring," he told her, handing her an armful of flowers.

She laughed as she took the bouquet from him. "Stop calling them that! And you're soaked! What in the world...?"

"Yes, you can thank Kelson for that. I was just on my way up to my apartment for a hot bath and a change of clothes." He grinned. "I don't suppose you'd like to come help me with that?"

"No!" She laughed, turning pink and quickly glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot.

"No? Too bad; you look quite warm. Not to mention dry. I don't suppose I could talk you into a hug?"

"_Not _while you're still dripping." Sophie slipped past him with a giggle and dashed into her apartment entrance, firmly shutting the door behind her.

#

Sophie's suitor returned an hour later, dry and much more comfortable looking. "So, have you found it yet?" he asked Sophie once she'd let him into her apartment.

"Found what yet?" she asked, puzzled.

He glanced over at the vase of flowers on the sideboard. "Your surprise." His blue-violet eyes sparkled with mischief.

"There's a surprise? Well...no...I didn't think to look for one..."

Seisyll chuckled. "I figured you wouldn't." He tilted his head at the bouquet. "Go take a closer look."

She did so, peering intently at the arrangement as a whole at first. When that failed to reveal any hints, she moved closer, examining each flower until, peering inside one small bud, she saw something and gasped.

"Sounds like you found something," Seisyll said with a smile.

Wordlessly, Sophie unfolded the tightly furled blossom and withdrew a ring. Seisyll crossed the room, taking her hand in his and gazing into her eyes.

"Sophie, please say you'll stay. If you still need more time, then we can consider this a betrothal ring, but if you're willing, I'd rather wed sooner than later." He pulled her close. "I love you, Sophie. Will you stay with me?"

"Seisyll, I..." The moment of decision had come; she could put it off no longer. But what should she say?

_Love is an act of the will..._

Sophie swallowed and took the giant leap of faith.

"I love you, Seisyll. And, yes, I will."


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

"What in Heaven's name?" Sophie said, giggling as Seisyll sloshed past her, continuing on in the direction of his apartment, a grudging grin plastered to his wet features. Her brother joined her, smiling in smug satisfaction, as she continued in her separate direction towards the Great Hall.

"It's not raining outside, is it?" Sophie asked in some confusion.

"No. Finally got him," Stefan said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know—the old Nyford tradition of pitching a man into the river once he gets betrothed? Well, I was planning on springing that on Seisyll unexpectedly, only he got wind of my plans and has been avoiding me ever since. Or, at the very least, making sure never to get near me when there was a convenient body of water handy." Sir Stefan paused as a page came by to serve Sophie. She thanked the young boy, taking a bit of the roast capon and turning back to her brother.

"I see. So how did you catch up with him?"

"Kelson."

Sophie nearly choked. She grabbed her goblet to wash down the morsel of capon. "Kelson?"

"Yes." Stefan stretched out his legs, studying the toes of his boots with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Once I explained the Nyford tradition to him, and your future bridegroom's seeming unwillingness to...ah..._comply_, he was most helpful."

Sophie giggled. "_Was_ he?" She glanced up at the Royal dais, then back at Stefan. "What did he do, lure Seisyll down to the Eirian on some pretext?"

Stefan shook his head, chuckling. "Oh no, not quite that far. Seisyll's too cagey. We ended up having to use the castle moat."

"The castle..." Sophie turned wide-eyed with horror. _"Stefan!"_

Stefan roared with laughter. "The Eirian's not all _that_ much cleaner, sweeting. Don't worry; he kept his mouth shut. And I'm sure he's scrubbing down quite thoroughly. It will probably be safe for you to kiss him...eventually. Someday."

#

Sophie mustered up her courage. "My lord bishop," she asked shyly, "will you marry me?"

Bishop Duncan shot a look of pure, distilled devilment at his brother priest. Father Nivard ducked his head to hide a grin. Duncan's guileless blue gaze transferred to the young lady-in-waiting. "Lady Sophie, I must admit that's the most delightful offer I've had in years, but I'm already under vows to Another, so I regret I must decline."

She laughed, turning rosy. "I meant to _Seisyll_!"

"Ohhhhh, _Seisyll_! _That's_ right…Sir Seisyll Arilan, handsome fellow, about _so_ tall, a bit too smooth for his own good, keeps you away from the Library far too much…_that_ Seisyll?"

Sophie giggled. "Yes, _that_ Seisyll."

"Hm. I'll need to think about it. I'm not sure he's good enough for you."

John Nivard laughed. "What the Bishop means, Sophie, is that he'll be glad to marry the two of you. Duncan, stop teasing the lady already."

"But it's so _fun_!" The Bishop subsided, although a smile still lurked in his eyes. "Yes, I'd be glad to. Just tell me what date you're considering, and I'll check my calendar."

#

"Sophie, would you run upstairs to Duchess Meraude's quarters? She has something she wants us to bring to Sofiana's Court in Andelon."

"Yes, my Lady." Sophie put down her needlework and left the apartment to do her godmother's bidding.

"She's gone?" Celsie said once the door had closed behind her house-sister.

"Yes. Let's wait another minute, and then we'll head up the back way," Constanza said, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.

#

"Surprise!"

Sophie looked around at the gathering of ladies in Duchess Meraude's solar. Duchess Richenda was there, in addition to several other senior and junior ladies-in-waiting Sophie had met during her stay in Rhemuth. In one corner, her sister-in-law Lisette sat, giving her a wave and a bright smile as she entered. Sophie heard a giggle behind her and turned to see Celsie and the Contessa .

"What's...going on?" she asked, bewildered.

Duchess Richenda smiled, taking her hands to lead her further into the room. "Constanza told us the happy news of your upcoming marriage. I realized that our travel plans have disrupted your household's schedule lately, with us packing and making other preparations for the trips to Coroth and Andelon, but we didn't want to take anything away from your special day. You've been so busy helping us make ready, I don't think you've had much time to work on your own trousseau, so some of us wanted to help that along a bit so you won't feel so rushed thinking you have to get everything ready in time all by yourself."

"And we also knew," Duchess Meraude added, "that given the somewhat rushed circumstances and also your family's recent loss, you and Sir Seisyll are intending on having a small and rather private ceremony. That's perfectly understandable, under the circumstances. But since you won't be having a lavish wedding feast, we figured we could at least have a little celebration of our own with you, since we'd already decided to help you out a bit with the preparations." She waved a hand towards the sideboard laden with dainties and delicacies. "So come in and enjoy!"

#

"Oh, Sophie, they're all so lovely!" Celsie exclaimed later, after the surprise celebration had ended and the girls had returned to their apartment, briefly accompanied by a few other ladies who had been enlisted to help them carry Sophie's gifts downstairs. "Look at all these yards of green damask; that should be enough to make bedcurtains and a cover, with pillows to spare. And there's chemises and night-rails, and seat cushions, and these pretty little embroidered towels..." Celsie picked up one item and dimpled. "Ohh, Seisyll's going to like _this_, I think!"

Sophie's eyes widened. "_Give _me that!"

Celsie giggled. "Is that meant to be a night-rail? You can _read _through that silk!"

"Celsie!" Sophie's cheeks flamed.

"I wonder who gave you that one?" Celsie peeked at the accompanying card. "Hm. Duchess Meraude." She grinned. "Well, I suppose that explains why she and Nigel keep having children even after all these years..."

"CELSIE!" Sophie stifled a laugh.

"The smocking is beautiful, but I could add a bit of embroidery around the hem, if you'd like. You know, just like on that pillowcase I nearly made for my trousseau..." The blonde demoiselle gave her house-sister an impish smile.

"Don't. You. Dare!"

Celsie continued giggling as she helped Sophie fold and sort her wedding presents.

#

The wedding itself was small, the Royal Chapel easily accommodating those few friends and family closest to the bride and groom, the Earl of Carthane and his Countess, and the King, who had turned up just before the brief ceremony was scheduled to start, slipping into the back with only a couple of his men and, to Sophie's surprise, taking a seat off to one side in one of the rear pews, as unobtrusively as his rank and station would allow. Bishop Duncan was the celebrant, leading the bridal couple in their exchange of vows, followed by the nuptial Mass.

Afterwards, the bridal party continued upstairs to Sir Stefan's and Lady Lisette's tiny apartment, where a small informal wedding feast had been set up after all.

Kelson stopped by there briefly as well, staying just long enough to offer Sir Seisyll his congratulations and startle Sophie with a quick chaste peck on the cheek. Glancing at her new husband, he grinned and in a quiet voice told Sophie, "Seisyll mentioned the kingdoms game you like to play with your brother. I realize your husband might have other designs on your time for the next day or so..." His gray eyes gleamed with suppressed mirth at his knight's vigorous nod and Sophie's blush. "But once he lets you out of your apartment, have him bring you up to my Map Room for a visit before he whisks you off to Tre-Arilan.."

Sophie turned a questioning look up at Seisyll, then back at Kelson. "Your Map Room, Sire?"

"Yes. With the table-sized, scale model relief map of Gwynedd and our neighboring kingdoms. Miniature mountains, valleys, plains...Great place to test out battle tactics and strategies." The King grinned. "Keep Stefan's agile mind well-exercised; a knight should remain battle-ready." He glanced down at the dark emerald silk gown Sophie wore. "So, that's an Arilan-catcher gown, is it? No peacock feathers? No cloth of gold?"

She laughed. "None, Sire. But I still have those gowns, if you have need of some blindingly garish souvenir throw pillows."

"No." He grinned and moved on, stopping only long enough to exchange a few quick words with the Duke and Duchess of Corwyn and a handful of others.

_Well, you might not have caught a Haldane, but at least you got kissed by one!_ Celsie teased Sophie. _Oh, if only Ailidh were here!_

_I know. I wish she could've made it back in time. But at least she's safe._ They had received a letter from Ailidh earlier that morning, filled with funny stories about her wedding to Sir Jass and the ways in which she and Lady Caldreana had been amusing themselves, often at Duke Dhugal's expense, before the Lady Caldie's lying-in. Caldie had finally been delivered of her child the week before—a healthy son—and now Duke Dhugal was starting to make plans for their return through his lands and eventually back to Rhemuth. _I'm glad the Duke of Corwyn decided to wait a few more days for his own trip so that you and the Contessa could be here, though._

_ We wouldn't have missed your wedding for the world! You know that._

#

The ladies left first, escorting Sophie upstairs to Sir Seisyll's apartment—and now her own—their voices lifted in song as they helped the bride prepared for her bridegroom's arrival. Celsie produced Duchess Meraude's gift, which inspired sighs of admiration along with some gentle teasing as the ladies assisted Sophie in her final preparations.

Shortly thereafter, they heard the sounds of other voices singing in the corridor—male voices this time. The Contessa went to let them in. Seisyll and the other men entered the apartment's outer chamber, still singing the wedding songs, this time in counterpoint to the women's voices. Constanza led Seisyll into his bedchamber and to the screen which had been set up beside the curtained bed, the other women backing up towards the room's entrance to allow him greater privacy and space while he made his own preparations to join his bride. At last he slipped under the covers beside her.

Bishop Duncan entered at that point to bless the couple and the bridal bed. This final duty performed, he smiled at the newlyweds and laid a small book on the nightstand. "A wedding present of sorts," he told them, "though I'm afraid it's just on loan, as it's a fairly rare volume." His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "John and I turned the library upside-down looking for it; it had somehow gotten mis-shelved. Enjoy your wedding trip to Tre-Arilan."

The bishop left, accompanied by the ladies. The assembled guests lingered outside the bedchamber door for one final song of blessing, and then departed, leaving the newlyweds alone at last.

#

"_The Love Songs of Omar al-Sadr of Nur Hallaj_? Seisyll laughed heartily as he read the cover of the book Duncan had left behind. "Is _that_ the sort of thing you've been reading in the Royal Library? Sweet Jesú, no wonder you're down there so often!"

"Well, no...I picked it up once, but they wouldn't let me...they said I had to wait until..." Realization dawned. "_Oh!_"

"Yes, 'Oh!' " Seisyll grinned. "I can already tell this is going to be a _very_ enjoyable honeymoon. With your godmother leaving for Andelon, I'm responsible for your Deryni training now, you know..." He gathered his blushing bride in his arms, his blue-violet eyes laughing. "While it's good of your celibate friends to be so concerned for your educational progress, I'm afraid they'll have to leave the more practical applications of your studies to me. Fortunately, I seem to have suddenly developed a vocation for the teaching arts myself..."

Sophie giggled, shutting him up with a kiss. "Then teach me, you insufferable man!"

Seisyll Arilan needed no further coaxing.


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-One**

The sun was high in the late morning sky when Sir Stefan and his new bride rounded the last bend on the road from Nyford and Kestrel Mote came into view. Lisette drew a breath as the bright sunlight gilded the windows and stonework of the East Tower. _Oh, Stefan, it's beautiful!_

The manor needed much work, of course. The new Lady of Kestrel Mote could see that even at this distance. But the croplands around it looked fertile, the fields already beginning to show new growth. Sir Stefan's men bowed respectfully as their new Lady as the knight's retinue passed them, giving her welcoming smiles, their eyes filled with bright curiosity.

Stefan smiled at her also, looking oddly shy. _If anything isn't to your taste, heart, we can change it. Alienora returned to her family once the winter weather cleared, so hopefully most of her belongings went with her._

_ You didn't like cloth-of-purple drapes with a semé of rampant lions in gold couched embroidery? _ Lisette teased.

_A bit…um…_regal_ for a mere manor like Kestrel Mote, don't you think?_

Stefan's new bride laughed. _Maybe just a bit. _She considered for a moment. _The de Varnay colors are green and gold, right?_

_ Yes._

She gave her husband an admiring glance, glad to see that the new tunic she'd finished making for him the night before they'd set out from Rhemuth fit him well. _And you're partial to _that_ shade of green, as I recall?_

Stefan smiled. _Yes._ He glanced down at his new finery and back up at his bride. _And thank you._

_ Then you won't have any objection if I replace the purple furnishings with green? Though, on second thought, cloth-of purple is quite expensive. _Lisette mused for a bit, then turned to her new husband with a twinkle in her eyes. _Let's hope she left the draperies, at least. That much uncut cloth-of-purple, if still in good condition, ought to fetch a decent price. Maybe we can sell them and buy you a good plough horse._

Stefan imagined Alienora's reaction to that and laughed heartily. The couple pulled up outside the stables. Sir Stefan dismounted, handing his horse over to a groom and then assisting his wife down from her mount, making brief introductions all around before the horses were walked off to be seen to. Stefan turned to his new bride, scooping her up to carry her across the threshold of his ancestral manor.

_Welcome home, my dear Lady._

Lisette beamed up at him, the bright promise of a new day shining in her golden eyes.

#

A glorious sunset bathed Tre-Arilan in red-gold highlights and blue-violet shadows as Sophie saw it for the first time.

"This is home," Sir Seisyll said, helping Sophie down from her horse and giving her a brief embrace and kiss before releasing her and handing her mount over to one of the stable lads. "See, I told you, it's not so far from Rhemuth. You can go back for visits as often as you like. Well, unless there's a blizzard, of course."

A dark-haired young woman not much older than Sophie appeared in the doorway. Seisyll hailed her with a bright grin. "My sister Jashana," he explained to his bride as they made their way towards her. "She's on her way to visit her foster-sister tomorrow, but she wanted to stay long enough to meet you before she starts her trip."

Jashana's carefree grin, so like her brother's, flashed at Sophie. "That's his gentlemanly way of saying 'Get lost, little sister; I want a private honeymoon.'"

Sophie laughed, blushing slightly. Seisyll chuckled.

"I have another sister as well, but Javana is in Andelon right now. You'll meet her at the end of the month, when she returns to start making ready for her wedding. And my brother Sextus-" Seisyll looked around. "Where _is_ Sextus, Jashana?"

His sister laughed. "In bed. Sneezing and sniffling, and muttering things about you being a changeling and the Devil's own. I don't think that last trip to Claibourne suited him all that much."

Seisyll grinned. "Lad needs to toughen up, then. It's all part of being in the King's service."

"Yes, well, _you're _in the King's service too. How come you get all the cushy Rhemuth jobs?"

Sophie cast an inquisitive glance up at her new husband. "So, what exactly _is_ it that you do in Kelson's service?"

Jashana looked at her brother, startled. _You haven't told her yet?_

_ Not yet. But I will._

"A little bit of everything, and nothing at all," Seisyll told his new bride with an easy smile, lifting her up to carry her into her new abode. "I'll explain later, though. Right now, we've a house to explore."

#

Dhugal and Jass, newly arrived at Transha Keep after their ride from Pelagog through Cassan and Kierney—this time with more leisurely stops along the way so that the Duke could take care of some administrative tasks while he was in his own lands—stood in the middle of the Great Hall together, discussing new room arrangements.

"I dinnae imagine ye still want me bunkin' down on a pallet in tha' small alcove jus' outside yer bedchamber," Jass joked, grinning down at his armful of bride. Ailidh giggled.

"No!" Dhugal said decisively. "It was bad enough being on the other side of the wall from you in Pelagog. Let's find you quarters on the other side of the keep. Ciard, could you go check on that?" He glanced at Ciard O'Ruane, who grinned and left to see to his young Chief's bidding.

"We don't quarrel _that _often, do we?" Ailidh asked in some confusion.

Jass laughed. "Nay, I dinnae think it's th' arguin' tha's disturbin' Dhugal's sleep sae much as th' makin' up." He winked at her. Ailidh's face turned scarlet.

Ciard returned shortly. "There's a room made ready at th' top o' th' first stair an' tae th' left. It's small, but it should do ye for now."

"Tha's fine. We'll no' be needin' larger until th' babe comes." Jass bent his head slightly to brush a tender kiss on Ailidh's brow.

"Do you know yet when the baby's due?" Dhugal asked, smiling down at Ailidh.

"Late December, I think, or maybe early January. Sometime between Christmas and Twelfth Night, I should think."

"Well, let's hae a look at our new quarters, shall we?" Jass said, shifting his bride In his arms slightly to get a more secure hold before heading up the stairs with her. "We've still bags tae unpack, an' my family's wantin' tae meet ye as well. I dinnae want tae keep ye out sae late tha' ye cannae stay awake long enough tae help me rock th' babe tae sleep."

Dhugal lifted a hand. "More than I wanted to know, Jass," he said with a chuckle. "I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"Aye, m'Lord."

Dhugal shifted his gaze. "Good night, Ailidh." He grinned, clapping her on the shoulder. "Let me know when you're ready for me to drag your man back to Rhemuth so you can get some rest."

"I'm going back with him if you do!" she retorted.

"Yes, you probably would." The MacArdry dropped his hand, shaking his head at her with a smile. "And I'm sure you'd ride off into battle with us as well, if I'd let you…which I won't. Even though you _would_ be the scariest force Transha could possibly muster."

Jass laughed and carried his willful wife up the stairs to their awaiting chamber.

#

"So, this is goodbye then?" Celsie's eyes shimmered with tears.

"For a time," Constanza said as they watched the city of Coroth dwindling in the distance. "But not forever. " Her guardian turned the demoiselle towards the rising sun. "Don't think of it as a farewell, sweeting, but as a new dawn. A new beginning of your life yet to come. You'll love the Court of Andelon, once you've settled in. And the time will pass swiftly enough, I promise you."

Celsie watched the rising sun's light shimmer on the waves as their ship sailed for the eastern shores. "Do you miss Lord Derry?" she whispered, then immediately regretted asking, wishing she could take back the words. She'd not meant to say them aloud, actually, but they'd simply risen up unbidden.

The Contessa simply smiled faintly, her eyes a little sad. "Yes." She glanced at Celsie. "And you?"

Celsie nodded, blushing, and looked away.

"Well." Stanzi sighed. "Let's work on growing you into yourself first. There'll be time enough for men later."

"I know."

Celsie turned again to watch the rooftops of Coroth disappear into the distance.

###


End file.
